Forevermore
by Tirith works
Summary: A take on The Hobbit and LOTR, wherein Bilbo is a little more outspoken, and has some self-confidence. What changes will his new attitude bring? This is a tale of adventure, but will contain eventual SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

What you need to know:

This is an AU.  
It's based on a curious (yet quite sensible) mix of the books and the movies.  
The first few chapters of the story will not deviate much from canon, but the story-line will later branch out, and gain a life of it's own.  
I'm not altering Bilbo's personality completely, just giving him a backbone.  
The m/m content will not come into play anytime soon.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Bilbo Baggins was a gentle, respectable kind of hobbit. Like most of his kin, he valued good food, good manners and good cheer above all - in that order. Which was why he was understandably appalled by the behavior of his most recent... guests.

_'Is this really acceptable conduct in the rest of the world?' _he wondered, wincing as yet another crash filtered through the closed kitchen door, followed by the disturbing sound of porcelain shattering on the floor. He hoped some of his late mother's china would survive the night, but was not motivated enough to brave the dining room and the uncouth group of dwarves occupying it just to save the admittedly ugly tableware, heirlooms or not.

Bilbo was more than happy to hide away in his kitchen for the time being - this way, at least, he could keep his cupboards from suffering the same fate as his pantry. Some of the dwarves had decided to raid his food stores when no snacks were forthcoming within the first two minutes of arrival. '_They haven't even waited for the tea',_ Bilbo thought with a sigh, staring at the pot sitting upon the stove balefully.

"Bilbo?"

The hobbit glanced up at the call, seeing Gandalf's large head poking through the doorway. "There you are! I wondered where you have disappeared to," the wizard said in a cheerful tone as he ducked inside. "Come now, don't sulk. The dwarfs can be a bit rowdy, but they're a good bunch."

The chiding remark did nothing to soothe Bilbo's rising temper. He swallowed down a sharp retort, as the old man continued, "Perhaps you could come along, and I will make some proper introductions? The last group's arrival was somewhat hectic after all. We're still missing a member, but we can start without him, I would think."

Bilbo rubbed his aching hip at the reminder. Landing under a pile of dwarfs, each at least twice his weight, had not been a comfortable experience. He would be turning black and blue within the hour. A questioning noise brought his focus back on Gandalf, who was looking concerned at Bilbo's silence.

"Is everything all right, my friend?"

Bilbo's patience snapped. "No, Master Gandalf, everything is certainly NOT all right," Bilbo gritted out, trying to stay calm. "Would you mind telling me why there is a group of thirteen people in my house, uninvited, without the barest hint of manners or a lick of decency? You have brought them here with nary a warning, and since the moment they have arrived, they have turned my home upside down, destroyed more than a few of my dead parents' belongings, stole a good portion of my winter stocks, and have been more than a little rude about it as well. So Gandalf, _my good friend,_ I should hope you have enough common sense to tell that everything is _not in the least_ all right," finished Bilbo shrilly.

The wizard's face fell the further Bilbo's rant progressed. By the end, the hobbit was happy to note some remorse in the aged lines of Gandalf's face.

"My dear hobbit," he began, but Bilbo's hopes for an apology were dashed as the rest of the sentence emerged. "I did attempt to tell you of the plan-"

"And I have been quite frank in my refusal to partake in any sort of mad adventure you have cooked up! I have turned you down, Gandalf, yet you invited yourself and your companions into my home, to my food, without my consent! The sort of disrespect you-"

Bilbo was cut off by a series of thundering knocks, the sharp raps echoing eerily through the smial. Bilbo's face turned crimson as it dawned on him how loud his voice had been. Had the dwarfs heard all that? Bilbo huffed. Well, if they heard - good! It may have been rude to speak of guests in such a way, but it was definitely deserved at this point. He was usually a gracious host, but stealing food and destroying his home was more than reason enough to put his reservations aside.

Sending a last glare at Gandalf, Bilbo pushed past his huge, hunched frame, and went to open the front door. He didn't know what he had expected, really, he had thought he was prepared for anything - what with all the dwarves previous - but the imposing frame and smoldering black eyes threw him a bit as his newest guest stepped inside. Especially since the owner of said dark eyes and intimidating presence was regarding him as if he was a nasty bug in a bowl of soup. Bilbo sighed. The situation was getting better and better.

Before anything could be said, the rest of the dwarves filed into the entrance hall led by Gandalf. The wizard jumped in with with an overly bright tone. "Thorin! Welcome, welcome," he said, ushering the dwarf with the sour face further in. Gandalf shot a pleading glance at Bilbo before gesturing in his direction. "This here is Bilbo Baggins, our host. Bilbo, this is Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thráin, Son of Thrór, Heir to the Line of Durin and the leader of our company."

Bilbo blinked. Durin? One of the seven dwarf Lords - if his memory served? A _king_? He stared at Gandalf, his expression blank. Bilbo could have been wrong, but he thought he saw the wizard gulp. His gaze was drawn to his royal guest though, as he stepped closer to Bilbo, his eyes measuring and obviously finding his host lacking.

"So this is the hobbit," he began with obvious disdain. "Say, Master Burglar, how will you be of use to us? Can you fight? What weapons do you wield? Swords? Axes?"

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. Burglar? Weapons? His gaze traveled to Gandalf, and followed a bead of sweat trailing down the man's temple. The silence in the room was thick enough to cut. His attention snapped back to the king when a derisive snort left the sneering lips.

"Well, Master Oakenshield, was it? Welcome to my home." Bilbo left his words to sink in for a moment or two before moving on. A chocked giggle from the gathering behind the wizard was the only reaction he got. He lifted an amused brow at the beardless youngster - Fili? Or Kili? - who shut up immediately. "And skills, you ask? Well, I wouldn't say I'm a particularly good fighter. I've never held a sword, though I would say my prowess with a kitchen knife is outstanding. I'm no thief however. Was there anything else you wished to know?"

The king snorted. "I'm not surprised. You look more like a grocer than a burglar."

Bilbo didn't let the remark bother him. He was a well-to-do gentle-hobbit after all, with an appropriate soft belly to suit his station, but he did notice the round dwarf flinch among the group at the harsh words. He sent a smile in his direction, then shrugged and patted his stomach.

"Yes, we hobbits value our food above all else. It is a sign of a good, proper home to have a properly round belly. For us, our food is our gold."

All the dwarfs in the hall shrank at his words. Some even looked ashamed. Bilbo frowned at them. What did he say?

"In any case," Bilbo picked up, "I think it is time for everyone to leave. It is getting late, and I am tired. I have already informed Gandalf I would not be going on an adventure. I thank you for the offer, but I must decline - again." He didn't offer the king any refreshments, because royal or not, Bilbo was no dwarf, thus not one of his subjects, and he would not stand for being insulted in his own home after everything he had already suffered that night. He just wanted them all gone.

"Adventure?" the king barked, indignant, just as Gandalf interrupted.

"Bilbo, please hear us out. And even if you decide not to come, at least let the company rest here for the night. We have a long journey ahead of us yet, and have nowhere to sleep for the night."

Bilbo groaned. The wizard was playing dirty. He had no desire to host this rude bunch, but he couldn't very well put them out into the cold night in good conscience. He sighed, scratching his neck in thought. After a second of hesitation he nodded to himself.

"Fine. They can spend the night. But I don't have enough guest beds to accommodate everyone." He turned to the group. "Would some of you mind sleeping on the floor? I will lay down some blankets, if that's acceptable."

Some grumbling ensued - _rude dwarves! _- but they did agree to the suggestion. Bilbo rolled his eyes as Gandalf ushered them all back into the dining room before the hobbit could change his mind. Bilbo was left standing alone in the entrance hall, groaning lowly. Blast his good manners!

- FM-

"Far over the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep, and caverns old,

We must away, ere break of day,

To seek our pale, enchanted gold."

_'Well, that certainly put things into perspective,' _thought Bilbo as he listened to the dwarves sing. What, exactly, did these dwarves want? To go home? Or their gold? Not that Bilbo didn't emphasize with them - in fact, he felt quite sorry for the group after they had told him their tale - but it was a thought worth pondering on; were they fueled by grief and a desire for home, or revenge and greed? Bilbo couldn't decide. And there was no way he was risking his life for the sake of their satisfaction if it was the latter.

Following their kings's arrival (and in no small part thanks to his loud row with Gandalf) the company had been much more subdued and polite - if that only barely - than before. Bilbo had offered them tea and good, hobbit-brewed mead, as well as a large tray of crackers when they had sat down to discuss their mission.

Listening to their plight had softened the hobbit, yes, but it hadn't won him over. They wanted Bilbo to face a dragon, for heaven's sake! "Why me?" Bilbo had asked, incredulous. After all, what could thirteen dwarves, a wizard and a hobbit do in the face of a dragon's might? It was insane. The answer turned out to be incredibly sad; they were the only ones who would come. No one wanted to help them, not even their own kin. That was what swayed Bilbo in the end. Yet the first question still stood; what on Earth could a single hobbit do? As expected, all of them had looked to Gandalf doubtfully.

The wizard remained adamant. Bilbo had to come, as he was important to the success of this quest. He would say no more on the matter, no matter the dwarves' or Bilbo's protests.

Bilbo had no idea what to do. Gandalf seemed convinced that it was vital for the hobbit to partake in their quest, yet Bilbo had doubts of the dwarves' motives. He didn't like them much either. The only ones remotely acceptable amongst the lot were the large one and the one with the weird hat. The youngsters were just that; youngsters, so Bilbo couldn't really remain angry with them, but the rest were not company he would voluntarily keep. Especially their leader. That man was just vile.

Hours passed as Bilbo got lost in his thoughts. All members of the group eventually retired to their designated beds or patches of floor, yet Bilbo couldn't shake himself out of his stupor. Sleep had fled his eyes as he agonized over his decision.

He didn't want to go, not at all. But it wasn't as simple as that. What if they failed to get their home back because a prissy, overly sensitive hobbit refused to help them? How could Bilbo live with himself if he heard news of their demise? Gandalf was so sure everything depended on the hobbit's presence, and who was Bilbo to contradict a wizard's word?

"Damn it all to Mordor and back," he muttered sullenly, and slid down from his perch on the windowsill. He stretched his cramped joints, shaking out his knees, his elbows, massaging his shoulder blades, and when he could stall no longer, he made his reluctant way over to the dining table. And there, rolled up neatly, sat the contract.

Bilbo gazed at it for what felt like hours before taking a shuddering breath, and reaching for the quill laid out in plain sight, waiting for him to sign his own death sentence. He unrolled the crisp, thin-cut animal-skin, and scanned the contents with practiced eyes. Gulping, he scribbled his name at the bottom with a flourish. It felt cathartic.

Bilbo staggered back, hardly believing what he had done. With a blank gaze he wobbled over to his bedroom, shed his over-clothes, and fell into bed. He was snoring within seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bilbo yawned, rubbing his eyes after blinking them open. The sun was shining through the window, casting a merry glow to the room. The hobbit blinked a few more times. Something was bothering him, yet he couldn't quite place the feeling.

A minute or so passed as Bilbo tried to shake the lethargy of sleep from his mind. Finally, the source of his unease registered; there was silence. Why was it so quiet? Thirteen dwarves made a lot of noise - awake or not. Their snores alone were enough to wake the dead.

Springing out of bed, Bilbo dashed out into the hall, and burst into the first guest-room. It stood empty. He checked each door, the kitchen, the living room and the dining room, but there was no sign of last night's arrivals, except for the mighty mess they have left behind. That, and the contract sitting innocently on his dining table.

"Those utter bastards!" Bilbo growled, glaring at the parchment lying in the exact same position he had left it in. Had those imbeciles even thought to check if he had signed before they left him behind?

"Thoughtless, ignorant, rude..." Bilbo kept muttering as he rushed to the bathroom, where he peeled his undergarments off, and unceremoniously dumped a bucket of unheated water upon his head. Wrapping a towel around his middle, Bilbo ran back to his room, ransacking his closets for the backpack he knew had to be there _somewhere_.

"Aha!" he yelped when he finally found it. He threw it towards his bed, not much caring where it landed. He then began yanking trousers, shirts, and underwear into his hands, and carried his burden to the awaiting backpack. He donned the garments on the very top of the pile, and stuffed the rest into the pack.

This done, Bilbo flew through the smial, chucking things that he supposed might be needed during the oncoming journey atop the change of clothes, like a thick blanket, a scarf, scissors, a tin cup, a book or two, his pipe and some pipe weed, candles, a comb, soap, nuts and dried berries from his kitchen cupboards, a few dried healing herbs, his mother's old traveling raincoat, and finally he managed to fit in some tea leaves as well.

At the door, he hesitated for a moment. It would probably be practical to wear his thick winter coat instead of the more proper waistcoat, yet the temperature in Hobbiton was too warm to warrant such a thing. In the end, Bilbo threw his pack down, scurried back to his bedroom, and pulled on one of his thicker - if not entirely stylish - wests, grabbed the contract on his way to the door, and decided to lug the coat around until it was needed. Better safe than sorry. He was already over the threshold when he remembered something slightly more important than combs and candles; he would probably need a blade to defend himself with.

For a second and last time, he ran back inside and searched his kitchen for the biggest knife he could find. Wrapping it in a handkerchief, he stuffed it under his belt, and set off.

Bilbo sprinted as fast as his furry feet would carry him. There was only one direction the company could have gone in, but it was uncertain wether the hobbit could catch up or not. When had they left? An hour ago? Two? Oh, those idiotic fools!

Bilbo was huffing and puffing by the time he spotted a gathering that looked suspiciously like his missing band of dwarves by the Green Dragon Inn at the town-square. Bilbo slowed down to a trot, sighing in relief, then scowling at the group in the distance. It was two of the youngsters that spied him first.

"Master Boggins!" they shouted in tandem, jumping and waving as Bilbo approached. "You came after all! We were getting worried. It's almost eleven o'clock, you know," Kili said, clucking his tongue like a demented mother hen.

Bilbo sent him a glare that could melt ice. "Yes, Master Kili, I have come after you. Although it would have been nice not to be left behind in the first place!"

The young dwarf shrank back at his anger. His brother, Fili spoke up in their defense. "We just wanted to give you some space to decide. We left you a note, too!" he said, as if that was supposed to make sense to the harried hobbit.

"A note you say? Where have you left it? Under the dirty plates and mugs littering the house? Perhaps under a broken vase? Or maybe among the scattered blankets you have used? No, Master Fili, I didn't find your note. I have also signed the contract - yesterday night," he explained, as if speaking to a toddler.

The brothers winced. "Oh... in that case... sorry?" Kili offered hesitantly. Bilbo rolled his eyes. Sorry indeed.

The rest of the dwarves and Gandalf were watching the exchange with varying degrees of amusement. Well, not the king; he looked as if he was sucking on a lemon, as usual. '_And the joyful times to still come! I can hardly wait_,' thought Bilbo, his shoulders sagging.

He then spotted the ponies grazing around the group, their backs leaden with familiar traveling gear. A brown beast nearby had no burden though, except for the saddle. Bilbo quickly put two and two together.

"You want me to _ride_ that?!"

- FM -

The first few days of travel went by without much hassle. The company left behind Hobbiton and the Shire soon enough, and Bilbo let himself heave a mournful sigh by the border before following after the group. What were his chances of ever seeing his home again? With a dragon waiting for him, Bilbo wasn't too hopeful of his fate.

The company was heading for Bree. Bilbo could hardly wait to get there. Even if they haven't been on the road for long, the lack of a good night's rest was already taking its toll on the hobbit. He wasn't used to sleeping out in the open - one blanket was hardly enough to keep away the evening chill - the food he had stashed in his pack was already running low (three meals a day were hardly enough, if eating breakfast and lunch on horseback could be called meals at all), and the dwarves were as insufferable as expected. At least Bilbo could buy a proper bedroll and supplies in the town, as well as get a warm bed in the inn if all went well.

Bilbo could have cried in relief when they entered Bree.

"Let us head for the inn. Perhaps they still have a room or two available for the night," said Gandalf.

It was late afternoon already, so the king nodded his consent. It would be unreasonable to push the group further when evening would be upon them soon.

"Master Bofur," Bilbo called out to one of the few sensible dwarves before he could disappear with the rest of the company.

"Master Baggins?" the dwarf inquired as he steered his pony towards Bilbo. "I have told you to call me Bofur. I am no master of anything," he chided with an easy grin.

"Bofur, then. And I am simply Bilbo, too," the hobbit said with an answering smile. "I have need of a few things I can buy in town. Would you mind telling the others I will be back shortly? I would be terribly thankful if you could save me a comfortable bed as well, if possible," Bilbo said in a polite tone.

"Of course. I have noticed you have no bedroll at night," the dwarf mused, scratching his chin. "You should probably get a bowl and a spoon for meals. A waterskin, too. And a good weapon," he added the last staring at the knife wrapped in a pretty purple handkerchief with pointed - if amused - intensity.

Bilbo shrugged. "Will do. Thank you, Bofur. Can I leave Myrtle with you?" he asked pointing at his pony. When the dwarf nodded, Bilbo scrambled off the saddle with a grateful groan. Bofur snickered, but left the hobbit to his misery without further taunts. Bilbo was already cranky after all, he didn't want to ignite his wrath.

The two parted ways after Bilbo divested Myrtle of his pack. He was lucky one of the side pockets held a stash of emergency money tucked away inside, otherwise Bilbo would have been penniless. He had forgotten to secure any coins in his haste to catch up to the company.

Bilbo's first trip led to the main market, as it would be closing earlier than the stores. Though reluctant, the hobbit found himself selling some of the more useless items he had hoarded together in his haste to depart, all in order to make space - and money - for necessities. His tea and cup went first, and the same merchant thankfully took most of his candles as well. He got rid of the kitchen knife, his books, then his medicinal herbs; there was a healer in the group, so they served no purpose.

Bilbo then stocked up on dried, smoked strips of meat, nuts and crackers, which he hoped would tide him over his hunger pangs for a few weeks. Hobbit metabolism differed greatly from dwarves'; they needed seven large meals a day just to maintain a slightly rounded stomach. Bilbo would have to get himself used to less food and energy in the oncoming days slowly but surely.

After leaving the market Bilbo did as Bofur had suggested. He procured a waterskin, a bowl and a spoon, bought a nice, warm bedroll, and went in search for a shop that sold swords and other pointy objects. When he found a suitable store, Bilbo fidgeted by the door uncomfortably before steeling his shoulders and marching inside.

"Hello, good sir. May I help you?" offered the elderly man behind the counter, lifting his brows at the lost looking face Bilbo was sure he was sporting.

"Well, I'm looking for a weapon," he said.

"Yes, obviously," the man muttered in a dry tone. "What sort of weapon did you have in mind? What would a hobbit need one for, anyway?"

Bilbo shrugged. "I am traveling far and I have heard of the dangers on the roads, so I need something to defend myself with. I have no particular skill with swords or bows though. Any suggestions you may have are welcome."

The man eyed him incredulously for a while before he spoke. "Any sword here would be much too large for you. The bows as well. Axes are out of the question. How about knives? How's your aim?"

"My aim?" Bilbo was fairly decent at darts and conkers. "It's fine, I guess."

The old man nodded, and gestured Bilbo to the counter, upon which he placed a few sets of knives. Each pile consisted of three or more similar blades. "These are mostly meant for throwing, but they work for close range combat, too," the man explained. "Want to try?"

Bilbo accepted the offer, and he was lead to the side of the room, where a painted wooden target hung. A knife was placed between his fingers, blade first. Bilbo shuddered.

"Can't I hold it by the hilt?" he squeaked, nervous of shaving his fingers off with a butchered attempt at wielding the thing.

"Sure, I just tend to teach it like that to discourage fright of your own blade." Bilbo immediately changed his grip, and the man let out a scratchy laugh at his antics. "All right, now...

- FM -

It was dark by the time Bilbo made it to the Prancing Pony. The noise coming from inside was quite scary, drunken men yelling and girls giggling never signified a proper place for a proper hobbit, but Bilbo didn't have much choice in the matter. The hobbit pulled his backpack higher on his shoulder, opened the door a crack, and slunk in.

He avoided looking at anyone as he inched toward the bar, staying as close to the wall as possible. The inn was crowded; there were no free tables as far as Bilbo could see in the thick smoke, and a lot of patrons were even standing as the serving girls weaved their way around them expertly. Despite trying his best to avoid attention, Bilbo still felt the gazes following his every move, and he had to grip the straps of his pack tighter to stop his hands from shaking. His new knives were an unexpectedly comforting weight in the situation, hanging from his belt in their leather sheath.

"Master Boggins! Master Boggins! This way!" Bilbo heard a yell, and snapped his head up to see Fili waving him closer, doing his best to keep his brother upright as the later attempted to empty a whole mug of ale in a single breath. Bilbo relaxed a little and trudged over, eyeing the younger of the demonic duo sway back and forth as he finished off his drink, smacking his lips indecently.

"Bofur said you'd be by in a bit, said you needed to buy a few supplies," Fili slurred.

Bilbo nodded at the inquiry. "Yes, I have everything now. Can you please direct me to my room?"

Fili's face lit up with a blinding smile. The hobbit flinched as the boy leaned closer, blowing an acrid gust of breath into his face. "Of course, Master Boggins! We got a grand total of three rooms - and you're staying with us!" he exclaimed happily.

Bilbo groaned. What has he ever done to deserve this? Where his nephews went, their uncle was sure to follow, which meant Bilbo would be sleeping in close vicinity to the sour King.

"Lovely," the hobbit muttered, as he was yanked toward the staircase next to the bar. Once upstairs, it took the drunken brothers two tries to find the correct door.

"If it isn't our burglar," drawled the unpleasant voice of Thorin Oakenshield as the trio filed inside. Bilbo spotted the dwarf standing by the open window as he puffed on his pipe. "I was beginning to think you bolted." His tone left no question about his hopes on the matter.

Bilbo ignored the remark, and scanned the room. There were only two beds. '_Great. Lovely,' _Bilbo thought with a mental moan of misery. Of course he wouldn't get a bed, a soft mattress would have been too much to ask for. It wasn't like he could expect the royal family to camp on the floor while the fussy hobbit got comfortable. Bilbo sighed. It seemed he would be trying out his new bedroll sooner rather than later.

Ignoring the siblings as they fell upon the sheets, already snoring before they hit, as well as the king, whose stare kept burning a hole through the back of his skull, Bilbo shuffled over to the worn rug by the fireplace, unrolled his bedding, peeled off his west, and climbed in under the blanket, facing the fire all the while. Oh, how he wished for a nice bath! Perhaps in the morning? It would be heavenly to wash off the accumulated grime of the last few days.

That night Bilbo dreamed of lavender-scented water and the soft, clean clothes stacked high in his closet back in the Shire.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bilbo was starving. Well, not _starving_, per se, but he was certainly feeling famished most of the time.

After the company had left Bree, beginning their long trek through the Lone-Lands, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and the group was forced to travel through an unholy downpour for two weeks straight. Bilbo had gotten sick within the first day, and he had no choice but to consume his food supply to gain enough energy to heal, instead of rationing it like he had planned. The hobbit had gotten better in a week, but most of his snacks were gone, so he had to do with the meager amount of meals Bombur prepared for them and some wild berries he managed to pluck from his position atop Myrtle. Since then, Bilbo had noticed he tired more easily than before, was crankier and snapped at every taunt the dwarves saw fit to dole out at the 'useless hobbit'. His belly was shrinking in a rapid fashion, and he had to clinch his belt tighter than he could ever recall doing.

Another week went by after the rain had let up before someone confronted him about his moodiness. The sun sat low in the sky when the king called a halt to the procession, pointing at an enormous tree ahead.

"We camp here for the night," he ordered, scanning the group. "Bombur, start on the dinner. Ori and the boys will take care of the ponies. Dwalin, you go scout the area. The rest will set up camp."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Bilbo sighed. There wasn't much he could do - everyone was more than happy to ignore him, in any case - so he went to ask Bombur if he needed help. The large dwarf smiled at the hobbit, and directed Bilbo to chop onions for the rabbit stew he planned to prepare. Dwalin sneered at him before disappearing through the woods, the others snickering at the warrior's parting remark Bilbo didn't hear. The hobbit scowled at his retreating back, muttering an insult under his breath no respectable resident of the Shire should even know. The dwarves must have been rubbing off on him.

Bofur snorted, plopping down beside Bilbo after depositing an armful of firewood at Bombur's feet.

"Pay them no mind. Dwarves are a stubborn and prideful race, and not much for outsiders. They'll get better with time, you'll see."

Bilbo huffed. "I would be fine if it were just mistrust, Bofur. I just can't understand why they have to be right bastards as well," he grumbled, bringing the knife down upon the onion a little harder than he had intended in his anger. The toy maker shrugged, eying his movements.

"You seem... more annoyed than usual," Bofur said after a minute of silence. "Did something happen to make you angry?"

Bilbo's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I know my temper is getting away from me," he muttered. Bofur had always been nice to him. He hadn't meant to take his frustration out on the dwarf. "I'm just tired and hungry most of the time. It's harder to keep my emotions in check."

Bofur lifted his eyebrows. "Aye, I noticed you have trouble sleeping. But is the food not enough for you? I thought Bombur would prepare plenty for everyone," he said, shooting a glance at his cousin.

"Oh, no! Bombur's meals are wonderful, and he always makes sure to save me a portion," he hurried to placate. "Hobbits are just... different from dwarfs. It's not so much the quantity of the food, but the regularity of our meals that matters. We burn energy much faster than other races seem to."

A look of realization dawned on Bofur's face. "That's why you have so many back at the Shire, then. Second breakfast and elevensies, was it?"

Bilbo chuckled and nodded. Bofur hummed, stroking his beard in thought.

"Oi, Bombur!" he suddenly called out. Bilbo snapped his head up as the toy maker wound an arm around his shoulders. "Our hobbit here seems to be somewhat different from us, dwarfs, in more than just looks. Would you mind portioning his share of meals in smaller, but more parts? Like maybe two before noon, two after, then one dinner? He can eat on the ponies as we go."

Bombur paused at the request, squinting at Bilbo. "Aye, I've noticed he seems to be losing weight." He shook his head, frowning still. "I"m not sure how it will be possible, Bilbo, but for now I can give you Bofur's share of apples, as long as you're okay with a smaller portion in the evenings in return. How does that sound? Are you both satisfied with that?"

"Sounds good to me!" Bofur said before Bilbo could protest on his behalf. The hobbit gaped at the dwarf glued to his side.

"Bofur, wait! Are you sure about this? I don't want both of us to be hungry. One whiny hobbit is enough."

The toy maker chuckled, ruffling Bilbo's hair. "It's fine. Don't worry. Besides, I'll get my fill at night."

"I..." Bilbo was lost for words. Bofur had been nice to him, yes, but never would he have expected the dwarf - any dwarf - to go out of his way for him. The generosity threw him a bit, but there was warm feeling spreading through his chest as he stared at the grinning toy maker. His... friend. Bilbo cleared his throat. "Thank you. This is very kind of you," he said, blushing.

"Nonsense. We can't let you keel over before you reach the dragon now, can we?" Bofur teased.

Bilbo dug his elbow into the dwarf's side, chuckling at the resulting "Ooof" of feigned pain. Perhaps joining this quest hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

- BB -

"What was that?" asked Bilbo, staring into the distant darkness without blinking. The sound he had heard reminded him of the wolves' howls back in the Fell Winter, and he shuddered at the memory. He had been but a fauntling, yet the creepy wail of wolves remained to haunt his nightmares to this day.

"Wargs," Fili hissed.

"Accompanied by Orcs, no doubt," added Kili.

"Wargs? Orcs?" Bilbo gulped. He had heard stories of the cruelty of those creatures. Not in a million years would he have thought he would have to fear them though. Orcs never ventured close to the Shire, so even though Bilbo knew of them, they were not something he personally needed to deal with. Yet here he found himself in the company of thirteen dwarves and a wizard, huddling around the fire like sitting ducks. The vague, dark outlines of the distant trees suddenly seemed menacing instead of a source of protection, and the night air turned chillier than it had been a minute ago.

"Oh, yes. The Lone-Lands are crawling with them," Kili said, and Bilbo glanced at him fearfully.

"That's right. They creep up on travelers in the dead of the night, wait until everyone is asleep. Then they attack," Fili added.

The younger brother nodded. "They kill everyone. Not a single survivor is left after a raid."

Bilbo's heart was pounding in his chest. He never wanted to come across an Orc. Shivering, he wrapped his blanket around himself, terrified the monsters would come upon them. How could he sleep, knowing Orcs could attack at any moment?

A giggle escaped Kili's mouth, and Bilbo whipped his head around at the sound. The duo were huddled close together, snickering at the scared hobbit. Bilbo opened his mouth, but no words were forthcoming. The brothers were joking?

"You think this a good joke?" he finally spat at them, seething at their thoughtlessness. "You think my fright funny? Is cruelty a source of amusement for you?" he ranted, disgusted at their behavior. Young or not, this was not acceptable.

"Stop with your dramatics, halfling," called the king. Bilbo to turned his glare on him. "Although, you are right," he continued. Bilbo lifted his brows in surprise as the dwarf narrowed his gaze at his nephews. "Orcs are not a laughing matter. Grow up, lest you get yourself killed with your stupidity," he snapped at them, then marched off to the other end of the camp. Bilbo's eyebrows climbed even further up his forehead. Dramatics indeed.

The company stared after their leader in open-mouthed bewilderment. It was not until Balin spoke up that their attention left the brooding king's back.

"It's all right, lads," he began. Bilbo snorted, but no one paid him any mind. The boys' appalling behavior was certainly not all right, and the old advisor placating them caused Bilbo's hackles to rise. No wonder most dwarves turned out so rude if this was how they were taught. Bilbo had not spoken much to Balin, yet he seemed a wise man, if only by virtue of his age. Also, he held a an important position in the lives of the royals, and the hobbit was quite disappointed by his complacency. "Thorin has more reason than most to despise Orcs."

Balin then launched into a tale of reclaiming Moria, the ancient dwarwen kingdom, and in particular about how Thorin Oakenshield won the battle at Azanulbizar for their people with his determination and strength. Destroying Azog and his army had come with a heavy price though; Thorin's grandfather - the late king Thrór - and brother had been slain along with thousands of dwarves, rendering their victory hollow. Thráin had also disappeared, and no one knew what became of him. It was a sad tale, and Bilbo had to wonder just how many such tragedies the dwarves had been forced to endure.

The hobbit pondered upon his contradictory feelings for the dwarves and their king. He felt a great amount of pity, this he could not deny, yet he also couldn't shake his dislike for most of them. The proud race had gone into battle after battle for a lost kingdom when they had been already decimated and chased away from their home by a dragon. Why by the Valar had Thrór led his people to Moria when they had help from the Iron Hills and a place in Ered Luin to settle? This simply made no sense to Bilbo. Their misfortune was in no small part due to their own actions, making the peaceful hobbit uncertain about his feelings on the matter. He wanted to help them reclaim their home, yet he was as leery of their motives as he had been in the beginning.

"Bofur?" he whispered to his friend, gesturing the dwarf closer. When the toy maker settled down beside him, Bilbo hesitantly broached the subject. "I have been wondering about this for a while - could you tell me why going back to Erebor is so important?" Bilbo asked, then hastily added, "I mean, I know it was your home, but haven't the dwarves settled down in Ered Luin? Or is it awful there?"

Bofur stared at Bilbo for a while, tilting his head to the side. Afraid he had offended his friend, Bilbo backtracked. "Never mi-"

"It was very hard in the beginning," Bofur cut him off. Bilbo lowered his gaze, but the dwarf patted his shoulder, the gesture showing he wasn't upset. "After Erebor fell, the survivors had no place to go, no possessions, nothing. We wouldn't have accepted help from the woodland elves even if offered, so we scattered through Middle Earth. The dwarves from the Iron Hills helped a lot of us, but they had their own people to feed.

"In the end, the Blue Mountains were our only option," Bofur said, sighing. "The problem is that most of the resources those mountains held had already been depleted by the time we got there. There were no precious metals available, no way for us to make a living of the only thing we ever knew; mining and metalwork. The dwarves had to adapt to a new way of life, learn new professions we never cared for in order to survive. It was especially harsh on the older generations - if you ever get a chance, have the 'Ri brothers tell you their story. I, myself, was a miner before Smaug. I only began making toys after Erebor.

"But it's not that bad anymore. It has been a long time. The newer generation, for example, is perfectly content in the Blue Mountains. I can't complain either. I made do."

"Then why are you here?" asked Bilbo with a frown. "I thought you all wanted Erebor back."

Bofur shrugged. "It's not that I don't wish to go back, I'm just content without it. Mostly though, we're here for our king. Or in my case - because I'm easy to convince. Couldn't leave my cousins to come bumbling by alone after all," he said, sending a fond smile at Bifur and Bombur.

"I see..." Bilbo trailed off. Shaking his head, he asked, "Then why is Thorin so determined to go back? If his people are all right?" Wasn't he just making the same mistake as his grandfather with Moria? - added Bilbo silently.

"I think he feels pressured to do so, to live up to the Durin name. The dwarves may be content, but we aren't prospering like in Erebor. Honestly, we are quite poor. But this is exactly the reason we are so few on this quest - no one wants to help when we already have a good place to live, not even for Thorin."

Bilbo hummed in thought. Despite all he had learned, he was still no closer to making up his mind than before. He still couldn't decide wether this quest was launched for noble or greedy reasons. Perhaps a little of both. "I wonder why Gandalf is helping. Wasn't it actually him who started this in the first place? He had that map and key, too."

Bofur snorted. "Who can know the minds of wizards? Whatever reason he has, I'm grateful he's with us. I don't think we stand much chance against a dragon, but without him? Mahal's beard, the probability of victory is below zero."

Bilbo giggled. If it was a tad on the hysterical side, none of the two mentioned it. "Isn't that the truth."

- BB -

The following four days passed blessedly free of Orcs. Bilbo became more than a little jumpy since the princes' tasteless joke, especially since the rest of the dwarves seemed to be on higher alert as well. A scouting party of two was sent ahead of the group at all times. Fires were small and lit only after dark for as long as it took to cook dinner, so the nights were colder than ever. Bilbo usually huddled closer to Bofur and Bombur for warmth. Bifur often joined them, and though the hobbit could make no head or tail of his speech and gestures, he seemed accepting enough of Bilbo's presence.

On the fifth day, the company reached the Trollshaws by mid-morning. The forest was dense -and somewhat ominous, in Bilbo's humble opinion. On the other hand, the trees provided coverage so that they could keep a small fire going throughout the nights, which the hobbit was grateful for. Still, he couldn't wait to be out of these woods. His unease mounted with every day they spent in there.

"Aren't you just being paranoid?" Bofur asked when Bilbo confided in him about his misgivings. "We're staying well away from the hills. The trolls don't come down this far."

"And the Orcs? What if they come upon us? We'll never see them approaching among these trees."

Bofur shook his head patiently. "We're scouting around every location we set up camp at, and there's always someone on watch at night. I think you're worrying yourself needlessly."

Bilbo jerked his shoulder. "Maybe."

"We stop here!" rang out the king's order from ahead. Bilbo glanced up to see him standing by a ruined little farm house, its roof missing and pieces of the wall littering the ground around it. There was something odd about the sight, but Bilbo couldn't quite put his finger on the reason.

Glancing at Bofur, who nodded at him, Bilbo urged Myrtle into a trot until they caught up to the rest of the dwarves.

"Fili, Kili, take the ponies and stay on watch. Oin, Gloin, scout the area and gather firewood," Bilbo heard the king instruct. The hobbit slid off the saddle, giving Myrtle a pat on the neck, and leading her over to the boys. He had grown attached to the pony, despite his initial aversion to riding. The beast was sweet.

As Bilbo headed back to join the others and ask Bombur if he could help with dinner, he spied Gandalf and Thorin in a heated discussion beside the abandoned ruins. The king's usually sour face looked downright disgusted with Gandalf at the moment.

"We have a map we cannot read, Thorin. Lord Elrond could help us!" the wizard snapped at whatever his royal haughtiness had said.

"Help?" the king bit out. "Smaug attacked Erebor - what help were the elves? Orcs took over the sacred halls Moria, and the elves looked on did nothing! You expect me to seek help form the very people who betrayed my grandfather? My father?" Thorin sneered.

"The elves of Rivendell have betrayed no one!" Gandalf thundered. "The dwarves' past with Lord Thranduil has nothing to do with them. And above all; you are neither Thráin, nor Thrór! I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to past grudges!"

"My birthright was never yours to keep," said the king, his tone deadly calm.

Gandalf stared at him for a moment. Bilbo shrank back when the wizard suddenly threw his hands into the air and stormed away, heading right in his direction. Gandalf pushed past him without a glance, and the hobbit watched, slack-jawed, as he reached the edge of the camp and disappeared into the forest. He turned to look at the king incredulously.

"Stop him!" Bilbo ground out.

Thorin gave him a withering glare. "Why should I? He can go wherever he pleases," he replied, unconcerned, and walked away to talk to Balin.

Bilbo couldn't believe it. Was the king really this stupid? He offended the only real help they had - a wizard, at that! - and was willing to watch him walk away, for what? His pride? Just when Bilbo thought he couldn't dislike the king any more than he already did, he goes and does something like that. He was putting the whole company at risk. Damn the stubborn fool!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Those are..."

"Trolls." Fili finished for Bilbo. The hobbit gave a slow-slow nod. He had known something wasn't right with this place. He should have listened to his instincts.

"We have to do something..." he muttered to himself, eyeing the captive ponies behind the rank smelling trio. Kili heard him.

"That's right! You're our burglar. You can just steal them back! You're so tiny-"

"Absolutely not!" he snapped at the rash youth. "They'll kill me in an instant." He paused, then proceeded to give some instructions, because he was obviously the only one with any amount of common sense there. "Kili, you go back and alert the others to the situation. Fili and I will remain here to watch. Understood?"

The young dwarf gave a sulky nod. Bilbo didn't feel sorry for the brothers. At all. The whole mess happened on their watch, and they would take responsibility.

As Kili scurried away and Fili fell into an apprehensive, silent stupor, awaiting his uncle's wrath, Bilbo studied the three giants lounging around their camp, which was something of a nook in front of a rocky backdrop. A minute or so later he concluded that trolls were not the sharpest tools in the shed. He made a disgusted snort when one of the idiots sneezed into their soup.

The company arrived soon, their scowling king in the lead. Everyone immediately began giving suggestions on attack-plans, each essentially wanting to storm in and fight bravely to the death. Bilbo sighed. If this was the norm, he had to reconsider the troll's level of intelligence.

The hobbit slunk over to Bofur, who gave an amused smile at his frustrated expression.

"These buffoons are going to get themselves killed," Bilbo grumbled. His friend chuckled.

"And what would you suggest then, Master Burglar?"

The hobbit jumped at the unexpected voice behind him. He whipped around, finding himself face to face with Nori.

Bilbo swallowed. "Well, uh, these are mountain trolls, right? Don't they turn to stone in the sunlight?"

"That's all well and good, halfling, but in case you failed to notice - it is nighttime," the king ground out. Dwalin snickered at the remark.

"We just have to wait then, don't we?" Bilbo said flippantly, annoyed.

Everyone gaped at him as if he were crazy.

"What about the ponies?" Ori asked in a hesitant voice.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "Master Ori, they are already cooking something. I doubt they intend to eat all those muttons and ponies tonight."

"And if they do?" Dori challenged.

"Then you can go ahead and attack them all you want. Otherwise, just wait until it's close to dawn, draw them far enough from their shelter so they can't take cover, and you have yourself three dead trolls," Bilbo concluded. "And their hoard, too," he added with as an afterthought.

- BB -

As it turned out, their ponies remained uneaten. One of the trolls had been quite vocal about his dislike for their flesh, which resulted in a heated, hour-long argument, and an agreement to keep the animals as an emergency supply only. Bilbo had to smother a smug grin.

When dawn drew near, the bottom of the sky lightening up with a soft glow, the company began to act out the plan they had devised during the wait.

Fili and - surprisingly - Oin and Bombur would play bait. They were elected because despite all signs to the contrary, they were the fastest among the group. They would draw attention to themselves, then run in three different directions, making the trolls chase after them. While they were gone, the rest of the group would free the ponies, just in case one of the giants caught onto their scheme in time and turned back.

"Everyone ready?" the king asked.

"Aye," answered the company.

"Then go!"

The prince's talent for pissing people off worked like a charm. The giants were after the dwarves' hide within moments of their appearance. Bilbo stared after the rapidly retreating form of Bombur with a slackened jaw. He was the fastest of the lot!

When the thundering footsteps died down in the distance, the remaining dwarves and Bilbo slunk out from their hiding place and proceeded to enter the trolls' camp. While some rushed to free the ponies, Bilbo, Bofur and Nori decided to scout out the location. The entrance to the hoard couldn't be far after all.

A few minutes later, the ponies already led away by Balin, Nori gave a triumphant shout. The dwarves all hurried to his side at once, while Bilbo sat down on a boulder to rest for a moment. It had been a long night, and exhaustion was taking over swiftly.

The first rays of sun were just peaking over the horizon and Bilbo's eyes were sliding shut, when loud thumping hit the hobbit's pointy ears. He shot to his feet in a panic, scanning the camp for his companions frantically. He spotted the entrance to the cave they had disappeared into, taking a running start towards it. He was about halfway there when a troll - the lazy one with a cold - burst into the shadowed alcove of the camp, heaving a huge (and putrid) sigh of relief.

Bilbo froze, not wanting to draw attention. How could he have been so stupid? He knew there was a possibility the trolls would return. He should have never let his guard down. He was just so tired all the time...

As the troll panted, plopping down on the ground, Bilbo carefully began to inch towards the rocky wall. He kept praying to go unnoticed, yet it appeared his luck had run out.

"Oi there!" the troll yelped struggling to his knees. Not wanting to lead the creature to the dwarves, Bilbo attempted to make a mad dash to the forest. He began to duck out between the troll's massive legs, but was caught by his scruff before he could make it through. Bilbo was lifted into the air, the collar of his shirt chocking him as it was pulled by his own weight.

The troll squinted at him. "What are ye?" it asked.

Bilbo could only gurgle in answer.

The giant waited a few moments, then shrugged. "Oh well, le'mme just put ye in- Hey! Where are them horses?" it screeched, noticing the missing beasts at last, and shaking Bilbo like a rag. "Was it ye?! Are ye a thief? I'll be cookin' ye alive for this!"

"You will do no such thing!" came a sharp retort from above. Bilbo had no chance to feel relieved however, as followed by the sound of a loud crack, the troll suddenly let out a mighty roar, flinging the hobbit to the side.

"Let the dawn take you, foul beast!" Gandalf's voice yelled, right as Bilbo crashed to the ground, landing on his back.

The hobbit lay stunned, unable to move - or even breathe - for what felt like hours. Every part of his body throbbed. When he finally managed to draw in a lungful of air, he nearly chocked on it. His throat screamed abuse at him.

Someone knelt by Bilbo's side, but the hobbit was much too preoccupied at the moment to pay any attention. His eyes watered as he panted tiny breaths in order to avoid aggravating his throat too much.

"-bo! Bilbo!" Bofur's frantic voice broke through his daze.

Painfully, Bilbo tilted his head to his friend. "Bo-Bofur," he croaked.

The toy maker slumped in relief. He reached for Bilbo's hand to help him up. "Thank Mahal! I thought-"

"Don't move him!" thundered Gandalf, and Bilbo heard hasty footfalls approaching them. "He could have hurt his spine. Let me check," he said as he got close, kneeling beside the prone form of the hobbit.

"How do you feel, Bilbo? Where does it hurt? Can you move your legs?" the wizard asked in quick succession.

"My ne-ck" Bilbo chocked out.

Gandalf frowned, but nodded. "Stop talking," he ordered. "Can you move your legs? Your hands?"

Bilbo answered by wriggling his fingers and feet, feeling relieved he wouldn't have to vocalize.

"Could you try turning upon your side? Bofur here will help you."

The hobbit nodded hesitantly. His friend smiled at him in encouragement. Carefully, so as not to cause Bilbo too much pain, the dwarf placed a hand on his hip and one on his shoulder. With a gentle tug, he rolled the hobbit toward him. Bilbo hissed. His back was on fire! That had to be a spectacular bruise in the making!

Gandalf was behind him within a moment, dragging his shirt and west up so he could examine the area. He prodded at the hobbit's neck lightly, then dragged his fingers down along his spine, checking for any abnormalities. Bilbo bit his tongue to suppress a moan of pain at the treatment. He knew this was necessary, he would just have to endure. Besides, he had no desire to show any weakness in front of the dwarves, who were by then gathered close, eyeing the proceeding either in curiosity, indifference, or - in Bofur's case, as well as Balin's, unexpectedly - worry.

Bilbo's tense frame relaxed a little when Gandalf's fingers retreated. The old wizard muttered to himself and nodded at Bofur. The dwarf then allowed the hobbit to roll on his stomach to get more comfortable.

"I can't detect any damage to the bones, but we should probably wait for Master Oin to come back and give his opinion as well. Many a talent though I may possess, but healing is not one of them," Gandalf said, and Bilbo sighed in relief. "However," the wizard continued sternly, "you are in no condition to move anytime in the near future, especially not with your airways in such a condition. You will not be able to endure a day's travel, let alone running or fighting if trouble finds us."

Bilbo's face fell at the words. "Then how-"

Yet before the hobbit could finish he was cut off by a loud, and rather rude snort.

"Didn't I tell you he would be a burden? We should have never brought him along! The halfling is just holding us back!" the king snapped out, some of the other dwarves nodding in agreement, while others looked torn on the issue.

Bilbo closed his eyes in despair. Or was it anger and indignation? A mix of both, he suspected. Hadn't he proven himself in this troll fiasco? Hadn't his plan saved their sorry hides? Yet there he lay, the only one injured, causing the group trouble. What a situation to find oneself in!

"Thorin! That is enough!" roared Gandalf. "Bilbo is part of the company, wether you like it or not. This is no time for discord amongst allies!" he chastised the king. "For now, I suggest we wait for our missing members, then decide on our course of action. Haven't you found some items of interest in that cave? Go and get what you need from the hoard. Bilbo can use the time to rest. Agreed?"

The king shot the wizard and the hobbit a dirty glare, but complied. Signaling to the dwarves, he spun on his heel and marched back to the opening, the rest following behind. Bilbo was left in the care of Bofur, who forced an uneasy smile on his face.

"Well, that went well."

- FM -

Bilbo was jolted out of sleep by a commotion taking place beside him. Consciousness had left him sometime after the dwarves had departed, leaving Bofur to watch over the hobbit. Bilbo felt like he had only rested for a few minutes at most when the yelling and shuffling disturbed him. Cracking his lids open, his eyes widened in surprise when a pack of rabbits - larger than they had any right to be - sailed right over the hobbit's head, closely followed by a makeshift sled of sorts. Bilbo gaped at the sky, then turned his head to the left to take in the confusing sight. His neck throbbed with the movement, but he did his best to ignore the pain.

"-wrong! Something is terribly wrong!" Bilbo heard the unfamiliar voice say. He could only see the back of the speaker; apparently he was the rider of the bunny sled.

The hobbit saw Gandalf make his way to the newest arrival in swift strides, putting an arm around the stranger's shoulders, and tugging him away from the curious dwarves - right in Bilbo's direction. The hobbit quickly closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Eavesdropping was not a terribly polite thing to do, yet something was wrong, and it seemed important to know about it. He didn't trust the wizard enough to tell them these things, except for when it suited his own purposes.

"Radagast, what has you so upset?" Bilbo heard Gandalf ask some distance from his resting spot.

"The Greenwood - the Greenwood is sick! A darkness has taken over; the plants are dying and rotting, the animals have fled, nothing grows anymore!" the man exclaimed frantically. His voice was shaking, as if panicked, and he could hardly seem to get his words out fast enough. "But the webs - oh, the webs are the worst!"

"Webs?" Bilbo could almost hear the frown accompanying Gandalf's words.

"Spiders! Huge, dark spiders! These are no normal creatures Gandalf. The spawns of Ungoliant, they are! I followed their trail. They came from Dol Guldur."

Bilbo shuddered at the image. Wasn't the company set to follow the road through Greenwood? But with the forrest infested by these creatures, there was no way they could go ahead with that plan. He had to warn the dwarves. They would just have to go the long way around.

Bilbo listened to the rest of the conversation with half an ear, much too preoccupied with the fate of their company to pay much attention to other, distant threats. They were discussing something about a potential Necromancer residing in the old elven fortress, though this really wasn't any of Bilbo's business. Let the wizards deal with wizarding troubles.

"Warg scouts!" someone shouted, ripping Bilbo from his thoughts. He felt like he'd been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water.

Suddenly an immense monster leapt into the clearing, right where most of the company was situated. It looked much like a deformed wolf, just like its howls had suggested, but it was two, maybe three times the size of it's natural counterpart. Snarling, it went right for Ori, but the youngling was saved by Gloin and Dori, who downed the creature swiftly. Another warg found its way into the camp as well, but was dealt with before it could do any damage.

"There's an Orc-pack sure to follow! We must flee at once!" Gandalf yelled at the company. The dwarves looked reluctant to run from battle, but agreed to follow the wizard's words after some grumbling. Ori, Fili and Kili were sent to get their mounts. "Who have you told of our quest beyond your kin?" thundered Gandalf turning on the king.

"No one."

Gandalf scowled. "Who have you told?" he insisted.

"No one, I swear!"

The wizard eyed the king for a moment before tearing his penetrating gaze away. "It would seem we are being hunted," he muttered.

A few seconds passed in stillness after the proclamation, then the young dwarves burst back into sight.

"The ponies have bolted! We can't escape!" Ori yelled, his voice trembling in fright. Bilbo felt much the same way. What would happen to him? Even if the rest could somehow get away, the hobbit was in no condition to stand up, let alone run.

"I will draw them away," offered up Radagast.

"They have Gundabad wargs, they'll outrun you with ease!" Gandalf snapped at his friend, glancing around worriedly. His blue eyes met Bilbo's scared pair of green for a second, and he pursed his lips with a pained sigh.

"And these are Rhosgobel Rabbits! I'd like to see them try." Radagast answered with a cocky quirk of his lips.

Gandalf rested his measuring gaze upon the unkept ishtar - was that a crusted trail of bird-droppings on his face? - then nodded slowly. "I would ask you for a favor then, old friend."

Radagast nodded.

"Please take our hobbit with you. He has been wounded, and can't run. Can you secure him on your sled?"

The brown clad wizard glanced around with a frown, until he spotted Bilbo lying a few feet away. He cocked his head to the side like bird, as if wondering what a hobbit was doing there in the first place, but nodded in acquiescence.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Bilbo was lifted into Radagast's arms, and the hobbit gave a broken yelp of pain when the pressure aggravated the bruise on his back.

"Sorry, little fella, but I'm afraid there is no time for comforts," Radagast murmured, sending a fond - and slightly deranged - smile at Bilbo. The hobbit gulped, then winced at the twinge his throat gave due to the motion.

As he was strapped into the bottom of the sled with a few thick leather cords, Gandalf sidled closer to them, and began whispering just loud enough for his fellow wizard and the hobbit to hear.

"I'm leading the dwarves to Imladris. Despite what Thorin says, we will be welcome there, and given some much needed rest, aid and protection. I will be calling a council meeting to discuss our... problem as well, so we should remain there for a few weeks, if all goes well. After that, we are heading for the mountain pass. Perhaps we could meet with Bilbo on the other side?"

Radagast hummed in thought. "I must head home to the Greenwood, but I could leave Bilbo with a friend of mine. He lives near the Carrock, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind hosting the little one for a while. After healing up, he could escort him back to the mountains, and wait for your party," the wizard said. "He is called Beorn. Perhaps you know of him?"

Gandalf's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. "Very well. Take care of yourselves, then." He turned to Bilbo. "Farewell, my friend. We shall meet again soon," he said. Before backing away, he quickly pushed Bilbo's backpack and something metallic and shiny into Radagst's hands, jerking his head at the hobbit meaningfully. Then he stormed over to the dwarves.

Bilbo could only gape. Didn't anyone want to hear his opinion on the matter? Wait, never mind his opinion - but at least his consent?

He had just enough time to exchange a terrified glance with Bofur before the sled lurched and took off, the crazy brown wizard leaping up beside him while cackling manically.

* * *

A/N: I'm afraid I have been reduced to unashamed begging for feedback. So, yeah... A review, pretty please?


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning**! Graphic gore ahead.

* * *

Chapter 5

The chase had been a nightmare and Bilbo had not even been able to scream. The hobbit didn't know which part of that statement bothered him more.

The Orcs had been on their tail for a good part of half an hour, nipping at the sled and getting much too close to snagging Radagast's billowing cloak on more than one occasion. If Bilbo hadn't lost his voice to strangulation previously, he was certain the screaming - which had been a constant urge - would have torn his vocal chords to shreds by the time the enemy departed. The wizard had gotten them to safety due to nothing short of sheer luck. Or misfortune, depending on who it pertained to. The wargs had discovered the fleeing dwarves on the plain, and the Orcs had abandoned their prey in favor of the group. Bilbo had been quite concerned, tugging at Radagast's dirty cloak, until he had seen the elves arrive. Only then had he slumped back, promptly passing out as the lack of oxygen caught up with him. He thought he had heard Radagast giggle in the background.

When Bilbo next awoke, darkness began setting in. The neck-breaking speed of the gigantic rabbits slowed to a reasonable pace, allowing the hobbit to take in his surroundings. The sled was heading downhill, and Bilbo could make out a tree line ahead. The hobbit licked his dry lips, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he managed an unintelligible croak.

"Hm?" Bilbo heard the wizard inquire. Then the bearded (and dung-covered) face of Radagast entered his line of vision, making him jump - and hiss in pain. "Ah, hello, hello! I see you're up," said the wizard cheerfully.

Bilbo croaked again in response.

"Oh! Wait! Just a moment," the wizard said while wagging a finger erratically, and started rummaging around the bottom of the sled beside Bilbo. "Aha! Here, water." He seemed very proud of himself as he presented his finding.

Nonetheless, Bilbo took the waterskin with a grateful - if minuscule - nod, chugging down half of its contents before remembering his manners, and sheepishly lowering it from his mouth. Radagast chuckled above him.

"Worry not, little one. I have another skinfull, and we will reach our destination by midday tomorrow anyway. I'm just giving the fellows here a small rest before we continue," he said, a hand sweeping out in vague indication of the rabbits.

Bilbo swallowed before attempting to speak. His voice came out as more of a whisper than anything else. "We aren't stopping?"

"No, no! I must hasten back home! I must protect my land from the evil threatening it, I cannot leave my friends unattended," he answered. Bilbo got the feeling Radagast was not talking about anyone human. The hobbit also found it odd that the rabbits would endure such a long journey without proper rest, but gave a mental shrug. They were no weirder than their master, in any case.

"Where are we?" Bilbo asked instead of commenting. He was somewhat comfortable after all, and he could sleep if he wanted. It wasn't him whom was expected to exert himself.

"We just left the Misty Mountains behind," Radagast answered with a shudder. "Nasty place, that. It's swarming with goblins after nightfall. It's good that we made it out before sundown."

Goblins? Wasn't the company intending to take the same pass? Worry gnawed at Bilbo. Although wouldn't the elves of Rivendell know about the colony in the mountains? They lived right in the neighborhood. They were sure to warn the dwarves before sending them off, right? Bilbo fervently hoped so. There wasn't much else he could do at that point, so he tried his best to put the issue out of mind for the time being. He had more immediate concerns - like the hunger churning at the pit of his stomach. If his calculations were correct, he hadn't eaten in more than a day. In his already weakened state, this was a dangerous amount of time for a hobbit, especially since he hadn't been eating all that well ever since he had set out from the Shire. He was getting underweight - downright preposterous a condition! Hobbits were always very meticulous about maintaining their weight, and for one to actually become skinny was near enough unheard of.

"M-master Wizard," Bilbo ground out, as loudly as his throat allowed.

"Hm? Yes?" Radagast called back, leaning closer to hear.

"May I- I would like-" Bilbo's voice kept deserting him at the most important parts, so he gave up, and got to the point. "Hungry."

"Of course, of course!" yelped the wizard, knocking hard on his forehead with his knuckles, as if berating himself. Bilbo suppressed a wince. "I knew I forgot something," he muttered, digging around in search of food. He came up with a loaf of what appeared to be flatbread, handing it over to Bilbo with a wide grin. "There you go. It's quite soft, so you won't have much trouble swallowing."

Radagast's statement turned out to be a little hasty in it's surety; Bilbo had a great deal of trouble swallowing the food. In the end, he wasn't even able to eat half of the bread, and he went back to sleep hungry and sore. He hoped this Beorn fellow would have something more... gooey for him to try.

- FM -

As the wizard had predicted, they got to Master Beorn's home by the next midday. To be honest, Bilbo was awed by the speed they had traveled at. The journey would have taken many days on foot. And the rabbits didn't even appear tired! Radagast, on the other hand, had great dark patches sitting heavily under his bloodshot eyes.

The sled came to a halt in front of a crude wooden gate. The sight beyond it left Bilbo's mouth hanging. A great garden - large enough to be a field - spread out in all directions, and lush greenery decorated every square inch of the space. Bushes that had no business bearing fruit at this time of the year were fat with leaves and berries. There was a separate little grove to the side that consisted of cherry and apple trees in bloom, with honeysuckles planted by the trunks. These were surrounded by bees of a size Bilbo had never imagined possible. They were bigger than his palm!

All in all, Master Beorn's garden made no rational sense whatsoever. But it was the most magical place Bilbo had ever had the pleasure to see. The twinge of disappointment the hobbit had been feeling due to missing out on Rivendell dulled and disappeared as if it had never been.

"Wow," he mouthed the word in silence, taking in the sight reverently, just as a beautiful black stallion came galloping up to the gate. It stood there for a second before neighing and trotting back the way it came. Bilbo had the odd feeling that the animal had been measuring their worth.

Radagast harrumphed, and climbed off the sled. "As paranoid as ever. At least he could greet his guests himself," he grumbled, then added more clearly, "Come, my little friend. Läran informed us Beorn is waiting for us inside."

"Läran?" Bilbo whispered in confusion as Radagast began unstrapping him.

"Well the stead, of course!"

Bilbo blinked. "Of course..."

It took some maneuvering for the hobbit to be free of the straps, and he kept hissing and jerking in pain as Radagast lifted him up, depositing him on the ground. The wizard then opened the gate with a hefty shove, and turned back to the hobbit with his arms stretched out.

Bilbo quickly backed away. "I should like- try- walking," he got out with some difficulty.

Radagast eyed him for a moment, but inclined his head. "Very well, very well."

The two moved through the garden at a slow pace, yet Bilbo still felt out of breath by the time they reached the house, which stood right in the middle of the grounds. The hobbit gasped and staggered when they finally stopped by the porch, his back throbbing with a vengeance. By the time his breathing evened and he looked up properly, a huge man with monstrous muscles and a lot of hair was occupying in the doorway. Said man was regarding Bilbo with a curious glint in his fathomless black eyes, while Radagast kept babbling about Orcs, the Greenwood, and helping out injured hobbits.

The man - Master Beorn, most likely - paid not a lick of attention to the wizard. "And who would you be, little bunny?"

Bilbo gulped when he was addressed, before the meaning of the words registered. "I'm- hobbit, not rabbit!" he gasped out in indignation.

Master Beorn shrugged, smiling toothily. "I am called Beorn."

"Bilbo Ba-Baggins, at- service," the hobbit answered automatically.

"Bunny it is!" Beorn said happily.

"No, I-"

Beorn had already turned away. Bilbo scowled, but didn't attempt to speak anymore. His throat was hurting enough, and the gigantic man didn't look like he would be listening to his protests anytime soon.

"Now, Radagast," Beorn said, his voice scratchy, as if rarely used. The wizard - who had kept on with his constant babble up to that point - snapped his mouth shut. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, well, you see, there is trouble in the Greenwood and I found out the cause, and then went to inform Gandalf, who-"

Beorn gave a low growl. Radagast flinched and stuttered, then hastily got to the point. "Master Baggins here needs some help. He is injured, and I thought I could leave him in your care for a few weeks, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Beorn cocked his head to the side. "I have never seen his like before. You must be pretty far from home, little Bunny," he said to Bilbo. "I think I'm quite interested in your story."

The hobbit nodded hesitantly and Beorn clapped his hands. "Good! Then come on inside," he said gesturing them through the door. "Let's check on those injuries of yours."

"Beorn, my friend, I'm afraid I cannot stay. I must get back home as soon as possible," Radagast interjected. He swayed a little on his feet, and steadied himself by leaning against the wall.

Beorn cast a doubtful glance his way, more focused on the sweet creature the wizard had brought to stay. The Bunny was positively tiny. And those hairy feet were just too adorable! He shrugged at Radagast. "Suit yourself." Who wanted that old goat around, anyway?

Bilbo was then ushered inside the house with no further ado, while Master Beorn snatched Bilbo's packs from the wizard. The hobbit flinched when a large hand neared his back to guide him, and the appendage retreated immediately. Bilbo waved at Radagast, thanked him for his troubles, and shuffled inside.

"No problem at all, my small friend!" Bilbo heard Radagast call before the door was slammed in his face.

Bilbo stared at the wooden surface, and shook his head. "Are you sure- he all right?" he asked Beorn. The wizard must have been awake for days by now.

Beorn grinned at him. "Nope."

They heard a loud thud outside. Bilbo then watched with wide eyes as his host trudged over to the door, opened it, and unceremoniously dragged the unconscious form of Radagast back with him, depositing him in a far corner.

Beorn huffed. "That's settled then."

- FM -

The wizard was awake within three hours. He jolted to his feet in a panic, and ran out of the house as if Morgoth himself was on his heels. Bilbo watched the scene from his position atop the kitchen counter, where Beorn had placed him while the man dug out a few jars of honey from his cupboard.

Beorn clucked his tongue. "Idiot wizard," he muttered, handing over a spoon and an open jar to the hobbit. He had already checked Bilbo's injuries, and the hobbit was grateful for something he could eat without difficulty. His torso had been bandaged as well, as Beorn had proclaimed two of his ribs cracked, but thankfully unbroken, after a thorough examination. The numbing salve the man had smeared upon Bilbo's skin took the edge off his pain nicely. It was a shame his throat was not as easily dealt with. He would be living off jam and honey for a good while.

The following week passed in peaceful contentment. Master Beorn and his curious four-legged companions were wonderful hosts. Bilbo got a soft bed to sleep on, enough food to fill him up - even if his diet was somewhat monotone - and good company. Despite Beorn's penchant to associate the hobbit with fluffy, cute animals, the man was a lot of fun to spend time with. He had a sarcastic, dry sense of humor that Bilbo could appreciate, and he was always patient with the hobbit, caring for his injuries with gentle yet sure hands. He didn't force Bilbo to speak either, which was a relief. The hobbit had a hard time getting out more than a few words at a time without beginning to wheeze, though he was slowly recovering.

The only thing that kept puzzling the hobbit was Beorn's wish for him to remain inside after nightfall. Bilbo couldn't understand why. The man's territory stretched out for miles on end, and was guarded at all times by various animals. Even Beorn himself left to patrol the land at night. What was the danger?

It wasn't until a few days later that Bilbo found out.

The hobbit was having a very good day. He felt better than he had in weeks. His back had ceased its constant throbbing as time went by, only reminding Bilbo of his injury if a hasty movement aggravated the area. His neck was also on the mend. Though the skin around his collar looked uglier than ever, Bilbo wasn't in so much pain anymore. He could move his head around fine, he could breathe without difficulty, and his mushy diet had been upgraded to soups with cooked vegetables and sweet oatmeal.

After dinner, Bilbo retired to his appointed room, and made himself comfortable on the humongous bed to read one of Beorn's books, like it had become routine. Beorn himself disappeared as usual, so there wasn't much else the hobbit could pass his time with until falling asleep.

That night though, not everything was as it should have been. Bilbo had been reading no longer than an hour when howls - terrifying howls - split the air. Bilbo knew the sound. He didn't think he could ever forget. Wargs.

In a panic, the hobbit scrambled off the bed, and burst out of his room. He ran over to his backpack, and snatched up the blade he had found among his possessions while unpacking the day he had arrived. Beorn had taken one look at the sword (more of a dagger in his hand) and announced it to be of elven make, explaining it's properties to the hobbit. Even if Bilbo was leery of wielding it, it was still a useful tool, as it glowed when Orcs or goblins were nearby. He realized Gandalf must have sneaked it among his traveling gear for just that purpose, as the hobbit could most certainly not wield it. He had enough trouble with his knives, let alone a sword. For this reason, Bilbo unsheathed it without hesitation, his eyes widening at the bright blue glow it emitted.

"Beorn!" he breathed, scared out of his mind for his new friend. He was out there alone! Orcs moved in packs, he would surely be outnumbered! Bilbo had to do something. How could he leave the man to his fate? He had been so kind in helping the hobbit, not accepting any payment in return. Bilbo couldn't stand by and do nothing as Beorn fought to protect not only his land, but the hobbit residing on it.

Without further thought on the matter - or on his own safety - Bilbo took off, buckling his knives upon his belt while sprinting, his sword tucked under his armpit. His mind was completely blank. He only knew he had to reach Beorn. If he had put any real thought into his actions, he would have probably realized how foolish he was behaving - alas, hindsight was an illuminating, yet quite useless practice.

The garden was dark, but the stars provided enough light to see by, if barely. Bilbo froze after he leapt off the porch, straining his ears. Faint growls could be heard from the right, so he angled his steps in that direction, his footfalls muffled by soft grass. Bilbo moved around the obstacles in his way, the tall bushes nothing but hindrance in these circumstances. The noise was getting louder though, Bilbo could even make out the grunts and odd pounding, tearing noises, so he knew he was moving the right way.

He was certain he had arrived when a torn arm landed by his feet, oozing sickly, foul-smelling blood. '_Not Beorn's, then_,' he thought faintly. He stared at it, not quite able to accept the sight. It was an arm. An arm not attached to a body. The hobbit's stomach lurched. Swallowing furiously, he tore his gaze away from the mangled appendage, inching his way around the last bush obscuring his sight.

The fight was vicious. And it made no sense.

The hobbit gaped. Carcasses littered the ground. Five dead wargs lay strewn around carelessly, their throats and bellies torn open, oozing blood and other squishy matters Bilbo didn't care to put names to. Their riders, the Orcs, were dropping like flies. Various torn body-parts indicated three very much dead - if only going by the number of heads - while the remaining two were fast catching up to their companions state. Chunks of their flesh were torn from their bodies with sickening squelches. Bilbo gagged at the visual, as well as the disgusting smell permeating the air.

But it was their attacker that really froze the hobbit in place. Bilbo would have said it was a bear, if he didn't know the animal was supposed to be less than half the size of the beast tearing apart the Orcs. It was enormous, its fangs almost as long as Bilbo's sword, and it kept snarling viciously as it decimated the enemy.

The hobbit trembled as the last Orc grew still between the jaws of the beast. A quiet whimper tore through his lips before he could bite it back, and Bilbo gasped and stumbled, his rump hitting grass, when the gigantic bear whipped its head up at the sound. It spat the remains of his prey to the ground, and began stalking towards the bush Bilbo was hiding behind, growling and snapping its jaws together threateningly.

The hobbit scuttled back, losing his sword in the process, then sprang to his feet with a yelp, attempting to run. But the beast was fast. Before the hobbit could take more than two steps, it was upon him, knocking the hobbit to the ground.

Bilbo lay on his back, gazing up at the bear's snout with wide eyes, clawed paws caging him in on both sides. The beast leaned closer, and the hobbit shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. A mighty sniff sounded by his throat, and the growling stopped abruptly. Bilbo shook, still waiting for the pain sure to come.

He waited and waited, but nothing happened. Cautiously, with no small amount of trepidation, Bilbo cracked a lid open. The bear was just gazing at him, its head cocked to the side inquisitively. The hobbit blinked both eyes open, staring up in fright. Why wasn't he being eaten yet? He flinched when a huff left the bear, nostrils flaring with the sound. Slowly, it began lumbering backwards, leaving the frozen hobbit in place. Bilbo hastily scrambled away, until he hit a bush, but the bear didn't follow. Perhaps this was one of Beorn's overly intelligent animals? It certainly didn't seem to be after Bilbo, but that could change any time.

'_It's all right. It backed off didn't it? Just wait for Beorn, he'll sort this out,_' the hobbit told himself, remaining absolutely still, so as not to provoke the beast.

The bear gazed at him for a few seconds, then turned away. Bilbo heaved sigh of relief as it stalked back toward the small battlefield. It began sniffing around the bodies, snorting now and again, then clamped its jaws around the closest warg, and tugged it toward the base of a nearby tree. This was repeated with all the bodies - or their pieces, as the case may be - till a small pile was formed.

Bilbo watched the proceedings for a while, his heartbeat regaining some sense of normalcy when the bear paid him no more attention. With a semblance of calm restored, Bilbo worked up enough courage to turn away from the sight, scanning his surroundings for Beorn. He didn't dare move, lest the bear decided to deal with the annoyance, and resigned himself to waiting for his friend instead. The bear was evidently not ordinary, and the hobbit was certain it was somehow connected to Beorn, which meant he could probably call it off.

When he found no sign of the large man anywhere, Bilbo took a leap of faith. Glancing back at the bear warily, he gulped, then called as loud as he dared, "B-beorn? Are you near?"

The hobbit's heart jumped when the bear whipped around, snorting at Bilbo with a chunk of something - of a leg? - in its mouth. The hobbit shrunk back, torn between being disgusted and terrified. He squeaked when the beast dropped its burden and let loose an over-exaggerated sneeze. It eyed the hobbit, its black gaze somehow familiar, in what seemed to be... amusement?

Bilbo furrowed his brows. He was a tad indignant about serving as a source of amusement for an animal, but the feeling was easily pushed to the side, considering the circumstances.

"Beorn!" he called a little louder this time, seeing no aggressive reaction due to his previous attempt.

The bear snorted, and sat on its haunches. It lowered its head, and kept staring at the hobbit with a hooded gaze, the body parts around it forgotten. Bilbo frowned at the odd behavior. It was like the beast was trying to tell him something. It happened as he gazed into the beast's eyes that the most absurd thought came to him. It was completely ridiculous. It was insane to even consider...

"... Beorn?"

And the beast inclined its head. Bilbo blinked. Then swallowed. "I think we ought to, uh, talk."

* * *

A/N: Much thanks for your feedback! Please keep up the good practice! XD


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"You're a bear," Bilbo stated, after he and Beorn settled down for breakfast the next morning. The bowl of oatmeal sat on the table before the hobbit, forgotten.

Beorn, on the other hand, dug into his meal with gusto. He winked at Bilbo. "On occasion," he said, swallowing a mouthful.

Bilbo licked his lips nervously. "I- I see."

Silence followed while Beorn continued eating, but Bilbo was too wound up to touch his food. When the skin-changer finally emptied his bowl, he cocked his head at the hobbit. His eyes lit up after a moment.

"Don't worry. I don't eat little Bunnies," he reassured with a smirk.

Bilbo's eyebrow twitched. "I am not a rabbit."

"Of course."

"Beorn!" he scolded, but the man just smiled indulgently. Bilbo sighed. It was a lost cause, so he changed the subject back to important matters. "You're a bear," he repeated. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Beorn raised an eyebrow. "I did warn you not to leave the house after nightfall," he said. "That reminds me; what were you thinking, charging outside like that? Little Bunnies should have more care for their safety."

Bilbo huffed. "I... I just heard the wargs, and I thought you... never mind," he finished with a blush. Beorn was right after all - what had he been thinking? But perhaps that was exactly his problem - he had been doing no such thing at all.

Beorn chuckled at the stuttered response. "So you came outside to save me?" he asked with a smile. "What a sweet Bunny protector I've acquired for myself! Although, you would probably have been more effective if you hadn't lost your sword, or remembered to use your other weapons in the first place," he finished with twinkling eyes.

Bilbo turned beetroot-red at the reminder. It was true; he had quite forgotten about his knives yesterday, even though they hung within easy reach. But he had felt so panicked! How was he supposed to remember them when a monstrous bear was pawing at him? Bilbo doubted they would have done any more damage than a scratch anyway. They were smaller than the bear's teeth!

"Yes, well, we hobbits are not the weapon wielding sort. We are much happier gardening and farming than fighting," Bilbo defended himself. "We don't even leave our villages, if we can help it."

"Really?" Beorn asked with his brows drawn low in confusion. "Why are you traveling then? Your home is quite far from here, isn't it?"

Bilbo nodded. "The Shire, a bit further west to Bree," he said, remembering Beorn had been interested in hearing his story. They never had a chance to talk about it till now though, what with Bilbo's injury preventing speech. This was a good opportunity as any to launch into the telling. "I came on an adventure on Gandalf's behest. He's a wizard, you see, and he asked me to help him on a quest of sorts."

"Gandalf, the Grey?" The skin-changer interjected. "I have heard his name. The old goat likes to talk about him," he muttered, likely meaning Radagast. Beorn was fond of referring to acquaintances as animals.

Bilbo shrugged. "Yes, he's the one. In any case, he asked me to help a company of dwarves. They want their home back, and Gandalf believes I am necessary for them to succeed. So I came."

Beorn scowled at the mention of the company. "Dwarves? I don't like dwarves. What business is it of yours what they do?"

"Well, I couldn't just let them march to their death, could I?" said Bilbo, confused by the vehement dislike. "Gandalf said my presence was vital to their success. I couldn't very well ignore them."

"That's absurd!" Beorn snapped. "Bunnies are clearly not cut to be warriors, so what right do they have to drag you along? Curse wizards and their manipulating ways!"

Bilbo shrank into his chair at Beorn's anger. He had not seen the man loose his temper like that before, and it was a mighty scary sight. "I'm their burglar," he squeaked.

Beorn gritted his teeth and attempted to reign back his temper when he noticed the hobbit covering in his seat. "And pray tell, what are you hired to burgle?"

Bilbo peeked up hesitantly. "I- I'm not very certain. I think it is a stone of some kind they want."

Beorn's eyes widened. "This... company of yours wouldn't happen to be the dwarves of Erebor, by any chance, would they?" he asked softly, stilling.

Bilbo frowned. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to tell others about their destination - Gandalf had appeared very angered when he had thought the king spoke about their quest to outsiders. But Beorn was his friend. Bilbo didn't see the benefit of keeping it secret. "Yes, yes they are. How did you know?"

His only answer was an explosive roar. Bilbo jumped as Beorn sprang to his feet, and began pacing behind his fallen chair. The hobbit watched the scene in fright. What in Yvanna's name...?

"Dwarves! I hate dwarves!" Beorn growled. "Greedy, blind creatures! They care not for anyone but themselves, blind to the lives and needs of anyone they deem lesser then their own! Foul creatures!"

"...Beorn?" The hobbit whispered, because Bilbo Baggins did _not_ whimper.

The skin-changer whipped around to face him. "Did you not notice?" he growled. "Or do you not care? Those creatures are of the worst sort! Why would you help them? They want to pit you against a dragon, don't they, little Bunny? And for what? Gold?" Beorn ranted. "And what of the men, the elves? They live close to the mountain. Are their lives so unimportant that the dwarves would risk setting a dragon loose to satisfy their hunger for riches?"

Bilbo's mouth was already open, a retort on his lips, but he snapped them shut at those words. Hadn't he been wondering about the same thing? And this was the first time he heard of people living so near to the mountain. Gandalf and the king had mentioned no such thing so far.

"I..." Bilbo swallowed. "It's not just their gold. Erebor was their home. I know how important a warm home is. I think hobbits know better than anyone. That is why I want to help them," Bilbo said, trying to put his feelings into words. "I also have my doubts, and I admit I don't much like most of them, but I did find a friend or two among them. And regardless of my opinion about their character, they deserve to go home. And I am certain Gandalf has precautions in place for the elves and men. They probably don't intend to wake the dragon anytime soon, anyway. At least, I don't think so..." he muttered, trailing off.

Despite the haughty king's questionable morals, Bilbo didn't believe he would disregard so many lives in favor of reaching his goal. He couldn't believe that. Gandalf wouldn't help them if that was the case, would he? Wizards were not known to promote selfish goals. They were the protectors of Middle-Earth. They would never condone destruction for the sake of it.

Beorn snorted. "It wouldn't be the first case for a wizard to take the dark path."

"Gandalf is not evil!" Bilbo defended. He wasn't. The wizard was a good man, if a little meddlesome. And rude. Still, what an absurd thought! Wizards don't just... "Wait, what do you mean?" Bilbo asked with wide eyes. "Istari are servants of the light, the Valar," he stated with absolute certainty. The hobbit was very well-read after all. Beorn was just mistaken, surely.

But the skin-changer didn't answer.

"You should abandon this foolhardy quest while you can," the man implored after a moment's silence. With a sigh, he righted his chair, and sat back down. "I am sorry for getting so angry, little Bunny, but this is not something you should partake in. Those dwarves are just using your good nature against you. You don't have to help them."

Bilbo shook his head to clear it. It was hard to keep up with Beorn. "Perhaps. But I want to. I told you I found good friends among them, and I would stick with the company for their sake alone, if nothing else," he explained honestly, Bofur's kind smile flashing through his mind. Besides, most of the dwarves would have probably been overjoyed if he turned tail. It was Gandalf who insisted on his presence. They weren't _using_ him. They didn't want him to begin with.

Beorn rubbed his nose in exasperation. "You are too kind for your own good, Bunny. It will get you killed one day."

Bilbo shuddered. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much," he said, a touch of indignation creeping into his tone.

The skin-changer smirked in amusement. "Of course."

"Bah!" Bilbo spat, throwing his hands in the air. Why did he even bother?

"How did you come to be injured? And why were you separated from your... dwarves?" Beorn asked, but his amusement died with the last word, spoken with utter distaste.

Bilbo shrugged. He told Beorn about the trolls and orcs, the giant listening to the story in rapt attention. He smirked proudly at Bilbo's plan, but scowled and snarled at the part where he had been caught and outright growled when the hobbit told him about the chase on the plain.

"Master Oakenshield was not at all happy with me," Bilbo recounted with a sigh. "Somehow I always manage to get in the way, don't I?" he concluded mournfully.

"That's not true!" Beorn snapped. "Haven't you proved your worth with the plan? The dwarf is just too proud to admit to his mistake. They should all have been on alert while waiting for dawn to arrive. It wasn't only your fault. Besides, inexperienced Bunnies shouldn't be left to their own devices."

Bilbo winced at the reminder. "If I could fight, maybe they wouldn't hold me in such contempt. I wish I could be more useful," he said, sighing.

Beorn quirked a brow. "You want to learn?" he mused, stroking his shaggy, uneven beard. "Yes, perhaps that would be a good idea. Bunnies should have some claws as well."

"Wait! What?" Bilbo asked, but his friend was hardly listening. Beorn kept muttering and nodding to himself, glancing at Bilbo contemplatively.

"All right!" he said finally, clapping his hands together. "You're well enough for some practice, I would say. Bring your letter-opener and knives outside. We start in ten minutes," he concluded, and got up before Bilbo could get in a word edgewise.

"Uh, okay?" Bilbo muttered staring after his odd friend. Letter-opener?

- FM -

"You must dodge, Bunny. Not gape at the enemy."

Bilbo groaned, rubbing his smarting backside. He had been knocked to the ground by Beorn's wooden stick - again. They had spent the whole morning practicing throwing knives at various targets (the session only interrupted by a snack or two), and after lunch Beorn had decided it was time for sword fighting. Which was how Bilbo found himself some distance from the porch, being knocked around by the merciless Beorn in instruction mode.

"I know already!" Bilbo complained. Dodging a fast, hard object coming at you was easier said than done. The hobbit wasn't even allowed to have his own little sword in hand. He felt much too defenseless as his friend swung the stick around.

"Then do it."

Yet it was no use. The makeshift weapon connected with the hobbit again and again, and he was acquiring more bruises than he cared to count. Beorn was getting noticeably frustrated with his lack of progress.

"What is it you are having trouble with? This should not be so difficult a task."

Bilbo flinched. He knew his friend hadn't meant his words to sound condescending, but his pride was quite wounded by them.

"It's just... I'm scared, I suppose."

"Hm," Beorn rumbled. "And you freeze up as a result? Is this a bunny-thing to do?"

"I guess? Hobbits aren't usually placed in such situations," answered Bilbo, thinking on the matter. The only times hobbits were really in danger in the Shire was when they fell into the river. And since they sunk like stone no matter what they did, fauntlings were told to stay still and hold their breath until they could be pulled to the surface.

"All right, how about dancing, then?" he asked. "Do males dance with other males?"

"Not usually, but there are a few dances that are done by males only."

"Good, think of swordplay as a dance. You have to follow your counterpart's movements, or you'll ruin the choreography and the rhythm."

The rhythm? Perhaps Bilbo could work with that. When Beorn charged the next time, Bilbo was ready. He began to hum, forcing himself to concentrate on something other than the danger signals his brain had been so far preoccupied with. He just needed the right mindset, and he would be able to move. He chose a fast paced song, with many beats, so as to be certain a beat would coincide with the potential impact.

He dodged.

"I did it!" he crowed, happy with his accomplishment. And was promptly swept off his feet with Beorn's return hit.

"Very good, little Bunny. Perhaps you could stay in tune the next time?" he drawled with a smirk.

Bilbo flushed, a little embarrassed. Maybe he should try making his humming silent? Yes, that would probably be wise.

- FM -

Another week passed. Bilbo gained back a little of the weight he had lost, though he was nowhere near a respectable size. Gaining pounds proved to be much harder than losing them, especially with the daily exercise Beorn put him through. Bilbo wasn't really complaining though. He found he liked the exertion. It lifted his mood, and he had to admit he felt better in his body than he had while lounging around at home, reading all day long. He had enough meals to satisfy him, in any case, and he was not feeling weak or grumpy.

His injuries had healed up nicely, too. His throat didn't bother him at all and the large bruise on his back had all but disappeared. His ribs remained somewhat tender whenever Beorn whacked the area by accident, but it was nothing the hobbit couldn't ignore. Bilbo had a feeling he could thank Beorn's excellent poultices and draughts for his speedy recovery. Even if the concoctions tasted awful, as all medicine was prone to do.

But despite the good time he was having, Bilbo was getting jittery.

"I think I should leave soon," he stated during dinner that night. "Gandalf said they would be spending a few weeks at Rivendell, but it will take me days to reach the mountain pass. I don't want to miss them."

Beorn's face fell at the prospect. He had attempted to entice Bilbo to stay many a time since their first discussion, but the hobbit remained adamant in his resolve. A promise was a promise after all, and hobbits didn't break their word. It just wasn't done.

The skin-changer heaved a mournful sigh. "Then I will be leaving with you."

"Beorn, you don't have to do that," Bilbo said in protest.

"Of course I do! I will book no argument on this. Bunnies should not go gallivanting around in the wild alone, but more importantly; Orcs are becoming more and more common around this land. Do you not remember? They even snuck into my territory!"

Bilbo shuddered. Of course he remembered. "But-"

"No, I am going with you. Those fiends are getting bolder than ever. A few months ago they wouldn't have dared come close! I will not let you go alone."

Bilbo swallowed, then nodded gratefully. He hated exposing his friend to such peril on his behalf, but Beorn was particularly stubborn about a number of things. The wellbeing of 'bunnies' just happened to be one of them.

Beorn nodded back in satisfaction. "Good. But we will wait a few more days. I have sent out one of my birds a while ago to watch Rivendell for news of your dwarves. They haven't left yet."

Bilbo quirked an eyebrow and Beorn grinned at him cheekily.

"What? You didn't think I'd check?"

Bilbo just shook his head in resignation. "But won't it take us longer to reach the mountain than for them to cross it?" The insane ride on Radagast's sled was no accurate source of comparison after all.

The skin-changer snorted. "Not for me, it won't. We'll get there in two days at most. I'd say we'll be ahead of them, even."

"You know a shortcut?"

"One could say that," Beorn agreed with a toothy grin.

The hobbit sighed. "Oh, very well. Thank you," he said earnestly.

"Nonsense, little Bunny," Beorn said, and reached over to ruffle Bilbo's hair. "You are the best fun I've had in years. I won't let you out of my clutches so easily."

* * *

A/N: C'mon, throw me a bone, and leave me some feedback. I would be very grateful for opinions.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Difference between goblins and orcs in Tolkien's works changes by the book. Sometimes they mean the same thing, but at others the author describes them as separate species. For reference, I am differentiating between them. They are NOT the same. Goblins are bound to caves and darkness, while Orcs can move around during the day, even if they resent it. Orcs also resemble human proportions more, though nowhere near as much as the later Uruk-hai. As you know, the Uruks are not yet even a spark in Saruman's twisted little (paternal) eyes.

* * *

Chapter 7

"I don't think this is a terribly good idea," Bilbo hedged, shuffling his weight from one foot to the next. The great bear crouching beside him let out an impatient whine.

Bilbo bit his lip. "Beorn..."

The bear huffed, nudging the hobbit's belly with his enormous nose. Bilbo sighed, and hung his head in resignation. It wasn't like he had much choice at this point. If he refused to ride on the bear, there was no way they could get to the mountain pass in time to catch the company. If only Bilbo had known what Beorn was planning, this could have been avoided. But who knew shortcut translated into getting a ride from his friend in his four-legged form? Curse the sneaky skin-changer!

"I hate you," the hobbit muttered petulantly.

Beorn snorted in mirth, but otherwise remained still, waiting.

"All right, have it your way," Bilbo grumbled, stepping up to the front leg of the bear hesitantly. How was he to climb up though? The beast was taller than him, even when lying so close to the ground. By the Valar, he could probably swallow Bilbo right down, if he pleased!

The problem was solved when Beorn lifted his front paw, forming a stepping-stone of sorts for the small hobbit. Bilbo gulped, then his expression shifted to determination. With a purposeful movement, he threw his left foot over the furry appendage, and hefted himself up. Once atop the leg, wobbling slightly, Beorn decided to help out by jerking the paw up, from which Bilbo was forced to jump. He landed on the bear's shoulder blades with an "Oof".

"All right, now what?" Bilbo murmured, sprawled out on the wide back. It would be folly to ride Beorn as he would a pony. The hobbit's legs wouldn't even reach the sides. Perhaps closer to Beorn's head, by his neck, where he could find proper purchase? Some awkward maneuvering ensued, but Bilbo finally managed to situate himself as securely as possible, given the circumstances, on Beorn's nape, where his neck met his torso. He was clutching the skin-changer's silky fur in a vice-like grip, and he could only hope he wasn't hurting his friend. Although if Beorn's lazy patience during the struggle was any indication, he didn't so much as feel a twinge.

"Is it alright like this?" Bilbo asked, just to be sure.

Beorn snorted, jerking his head up and down.

"Okay... then, giddyup?"

Beorn - after a rather insulted sounding sniff - took off with long, loping strides. Bilbo yelped, scrambling to get a better hold before he got shaken right off. He didn't fancy another fall, especially not so soon after his trollish misadventure. In the end, the hobbit simply plastered himself to the bear's neck, hugging it as far as his arms could reach. It was surprisingly comfortable, if one could disregard the infernal bouncing, that is. The hobbit was just glad he had been practicing swordplay; at least his muscles were used to getting tired, and he was able to ignore the burning sensation.

Leaving behind Beorn's territory in a flash, the hobbit didn't even have time to feel depressed. The bear didn't follow any real path, he simply cut through the wild, heading straight for their destination. Riding him was an interesting experience, to say the least. Bilbo most certainly couldn't have navigated this terrain on foot - neither with a pony, for that matter.

During the day, they stopped a number of times for food and private breaks, and thankfully managed to avoid any patrolling Orc parties. Beorn was noticeably on edge though, so they never stayed in one place for more than ten minutes. By nightfall, Bilbo could already make out the foot of the mountains in the distance. They weren't moving as fast as Radagast's sled, yet the distance covered in so little time was still quite a feat. Poor Beorn was exhausted when they finally settled down to camp, despite attempting to play his state down in front of the hobbit. Bilbo tried not to feel guilty. Of course, he failed spectacularly, Beorn's reassurances notwithstanding.

The duo continued their trek with daybreak. The bear kept up the same fast pace as the day previous, galloping over rocks and bushes with newfound energy. Bilbo was a little alarmed when the trees that had provided cover so far began to thin, and they found themselves facing a thin, steep path winding upwards on a near vertical cliff-face, leading to the pass above. Climbing up would leave them incredibly exposed.

"Maybe we should wait for them here?" he asked hesitantly.

Beorn shook his head, and tapped his paw on the ground, signaling the hobbit to get off. Bilbo obliged, sliding down in a well-practiced move. He had gotten quite used to the technicalities of bear-back riding.

He knew his friend probably had something to say when he began shifting right in front of his eyes. No matter how often Bilbo saw the change, it was still fascinating, if embarrassing. Beorn growled, the sound morphing into a more human groan as his bones creaked, his form shrinking and rearranging itself until a man took the animal's place. He remained in a crouch for a few seconds to collect himself, then straightened and turned to Bilbo. The hobbit went pink in the face, and hastily handed the man his clothes that have been stored in his backpack. Beorn declined, and Bilbo was forced to take the articles back with a resigned sigh. He would never get used to how at ease Beorn seemed with his own nudity.

Beorn cleared his throat before attempting to speak, shaking off the remnants of the change.

"We don't know which path your dwarves intend to take down. There are a number of them leading from the pass."

Bilbo fidgeted uncomfortably. "Oh... Then maybe we could take a different one as well? This way seems very open and dangerous," he said, eyeing the rocky formation ahead. The mere sight made him uneasy. Who was to say an Orc wouldn't spot them from bellow once they began to climb? Beorn and he would be shot down with arrows before they knew what hit them. The fiends may not have liked daylight, but like the skin-changer had said, they were getting bolder than ever. The duo had been forced to hide from scouts more than once during their journey - even if Beorn could have probably fought them off, they had no desire to call attention to themselves. And the dwarves had also been attacked in the morning hours.

Beorn waved his hand dismissively. "It would make no difference. We can't afford the time needed to take the long way around, and otherwise all the paths are similar. There are also the tunnels, but those would be just as risky. The system is connected to the mountain and I don't know how far goblins have spread."

Bilbo gulped, remembering his concern about the infestation in the Misty Mountains. He hoped the company got through in one piece. Still, this was a problem. Both options they had were plain bad. But as Bilbo continued staring at the looming pathway ahead, he couldn't deny a tunnel was looking more and more favorable.

"But the goblins' territory may not even reach this part right? Orcs, on the other hand, are all over the place out here. I think we could chance the tunnel, no?" he asked, trepidation making the hairs on his feet stand on end.

Beorn hummed in thought. "Are you sure, little Bunny? I will go along with whichever way you choose."

'_No, I'm not sure at all,_' Bilbo thought with a shudder. Who knew traveling would prove to be so perilous? They haven't even reached the dragon yet, for Eru's sake, yet their quest had almost failed more than once already. Nonetheless, Bilbo had to decide. They couldn't afford to dally around in the open like that for much longer.

"I... I want to try the t-tunel," he said finally, tripping over the word.

Beorn shrugged. "So be it. At least I can keep my bear form. I wouldn't have fit on these paths anyway," he said, way too unconcerned about their potential doom for Bilbo's liking. The skin changer then gave a feral grin. "Perhaps I can tear apart a goblin or two along the way as well."

Bilbo gaped. Beorn's idea of a hobby was... unsettling. Yes, quite unsettling.

- FM -

They found an entrance to the tunnel-system within a twenty minute walk. Beorn had immediately shifted back into a bear after their discussion, so the hobbit was perched atop the base of his neck, like usual. The skin-changer halted by the opening, sniffing the stale air wafting out.

"So?" Bilbo asked, pulling himself higher in order to get a peek over Beorn's massive head. "Any goblins in there, you think?"

Beorn sneezed, but started inside right after.

"I gather not," Bilbo muttered, relieved. Not that the goblins' absence so near the entrance meant much, but it was better than nothing.

As Beorn trudged ahead, the hobbit quickly rummaged through his backpack, digging out the only candle he had kept in case of emergencies. He pulled out the tinder box Beorn had gifted him from his west-pocket, and did his best to light the wick without setting his friend's fur on fire. The task was not easy, especially while Beorn kept moving, but the hobbit did succeed in the end.

As the two walked deeper and deeper into the darkness, Beorn's gait slowed. The slope was not as bad as on the outside, but it still must have been exhausting to climb. The bear took care to step lightly to avoid making too much noise. He kept his nose high in the air, taking deep breaths, sampling the odors. They passed many a fork and intersection along their way, and Bilbo shuddered to think what he would have done without Beorn's sense of smell as a guide.

They must have been in the tunnel for close to an hour when Beorn suddenly stiffened. A rumble tore through his throat, and Bilbo felt his body vibrate with the force of it. Yet the sound itself Beorn produced was quiet, as if he was unsure about the nature of the threat. Bilbo froze atop his back, his ears twitching and his eyes scanning his surroundings. He hastily pinched the candle off, not wanting to alert their foe either with the light or the smoke. After all, Beorn could use his senses just fine in the darkness, it was only for Bilbo's peace of mind it had been lit in the first place.

To the hobbit's surprise however, he wasn't completely blind. There was light cutting through the darkness ahead, sparse as it was. Were they close to the exit? They had to be! But Beorn's hackles were raised, which meant there was something there Bilbo really didn't want to meet. Fumbling along his belt, the hobbit grabbed the hilt of his small elvish blade, and drew it out of its sheath. A relieved sigh left him when he saw it wasn't glowing. No goblins, then.

All the while, Beorn kept inching forward. As they approached the source of the light, Bilbo began to make out some splashing noises. '_Is there a lake there?_' was his first thought. If so, what was upsetting its water? Concentrating hard, Bilbo could just catch the end of what seemed to be a... song?

"-sweeeeet! Our only wiiiiish, to catch a fiiiiiish, so juicy-sweeeeeeeet!"

The hobbit cringed. Eru, did that hurt his ears! The high-pitched final note echoed through the silence, like a kettle left to whistle for too long. Whatever creature was producing that sound, the hobbit doubted it was anything good. Beorn seemed to agree with his assessment, as he jerked to a halt and twitched under the hobbit. Bilbo gathered his courage and crawled higher on Beorn's neck so he could take a proper look.

The bear was standing in the mouth of a spacious cavern. Up in front, about fifteen or so steps further was a pond. Jagged rocks lined its shore, and there was a formation right in the middle of the water, a small island of sorts. The light the hobbit had noticed earlier was the pond reflecting the thin shafts of sun that filtered in from above through small cracks upon the stone. He and Beorn were close to the surface, at least, though Bilbo wasn't exactly cheered by the notion at the moment.

Because, really, the creature sitting on the small island, dangling its stick-like legs into the dirty water was anything but cheer-inducing.

It was ugly, very ugly. It couldn't have been taller than Bilbo, but its back was contorted an hunched oddly, so it was hard to tell for sure. The thing's ribs were poking through sallow, pale skin, and it hardly had any hair at all. It was wearing a tattered loincloth on its bony hips, and Bilbo found it safe to assume it was male. The hobbit could only see the back of its head, as it was studying something in its left hand intently, holding it up in reverence. Bilbo was too far to see what the object was.

The hobbit could barely hold back a gasp when the creature tucked away the object into the loincloth, and he got a better view of its profile. The most prominent feature was the bulbous, blue eye that seemed to glow with a mad, inner light. The expression on the deformed face was one of childish glee.

"Haves we had dwarvses before, Precious?" the creature asked out of the blue in a thin, nasal tone. For a moment, Bilbo thought Beorn and he had been spotted, but the thing's voice answered its own question snappishly. "Tried we have, tried we have, but dwarvses be nasty. Chewy, not at all juicy." The creature let out a giggle. "We'ves made a rhyme, Precious, a rhyme! Ha! Haha!" "Shut up!" Then after a second of silence, "But Precious, better than goblinses, aren't they? Better than goblinses." "But not better than fishes!" "Oooh, that's right, Precious! That's right! Nice, soft, tender fishy flesh..."

Bilbo watched the spectacle with a disgusted grimace. The creature ate dwarves? Or perhaps even more disconcerting, if in an entirely different way: it ate goblins?

Shaking his head, the hobbit forced himself to concentrate on the importance of what he had heard. The creature was talking about dwarves. Did that mean he saw some? Had he met the company? Were they in trouble? Bilbo was quite worried. As unpleasant as it would prove to be, the hobbit contemplated asking the creature. What damage could it do, after all? Bilbo was with a bear, one that killed Orcs for sport at that. What could the diminutive thing do? It didn't even have any weapons, as far as Bilbo could tell.

The hobbit glanced down at Beorn questioningly. The bear's stare was fixed on the island ahead, and Bilbo noticed he was crouched close to the ground, ready to spring at a moment's notice. The hobbit tugged on his fur to get his attention. Beorn jerked, tilting his head to the side, and the hobbit rolled off his back, landing as silently as possible, holding his sword at the ready. He was nowhere near good at wielding it, but his practice sessions were at least enough to teach him how to cut the enemy, instead of himself. That was a great improvement, in Bilbo's opinion, although Beorn had gotten quite frustrated when he had said as much.

The hobbit stood on his tiptoes, getting as close to Beorn's ear as possible. "Is it alone?" he asked in a hushed whisper, barely loud enough to hear himself.

The bear inclined his head slowly.

"I think it saw my company. I-"

Bilbo was cut off when an unholy shriek echoed through the stillness.

"Aargh! Hide, Precious, we's must hide! Beastses in our cave! Must hide!"

The hobbit snapped his head up, catching a glimpse of the creature as it ducked down behind a jutting rock.

"Big beastses, large beastses! Eats us, it will eats us whole!" it cried. "Shut up!" "Beastses in the tunnel! Big, large beastses!"

Bilbo stared. How in the name of the Valar did it plan to avoid detection with its incessant howls? What a weird fellow. Nonetheless, this new development left him with little other choice but to confront the creature before it realized being quiet would serve him better, and really did disappear.

"Wait!" he said. "Wait, we don't mean harm!"

Absolute silence fell with Bilbo's proclamation. Beorn growled softly, and the hobbit dearly hoped he wouldn't, in fact, eat the thing before they got some answers. Bilbo quickly placed a calming hand on the bear's shank, shooting a sideways glance at him.

"We are only passing through," Bilbo soldiered on when the creature gave no reaction. "I heard you mention dwarves. Did you see a group of them, by chance? A company of thirteen?"

"It's talks, Precious! It be asking us."

Bilbo's left brow twitched. "Yes, I'm somewhat proficient at speaking," he said, trying not to take offense.

The creature's huge, glittering eyes appeared over the rock it had ducked behind. It blinked curiously, its gaze fixed on the bear, before it spotted the hobbit. It cocked its head to the side, realization dawning on its face. "Look at that, Precious, look at that! It is..." the creature trailed off, its forehead wrinkling in confusion. "What is it, Precious? What is it?"

Bilbo cleared his throat. "My name is Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he introduced himself, because no matter the situation, it never hurt to be polite. Beorn snorted beside him, and Bilbo winced. He knew he wasn't imagining the reproachfulness in the gesture. Still, manners were important!

"Bagginses? What is a Bagginses, Precious?"

"I'm a hobbit," Bilbo answered, even though the creature seemed to be talking to itself, not him.

"Oooh! We like goblinses, batses and fishes, but we never tried hobbitses before! Is it like rabbitses, Precious? We's remember rabbitses!"

Now Bilbo wanted to hit the thing. He would never hear the end of this from Beorn. "You can't eat me," he said, and with a deepening scowl added, "I am in no way related to rabbits."

The creature blinked blankly.

"In any case, did you see dwarves come by? I should like to know, and then we'll be on our way," Bilbo said.

"Dwarvses, it asks," the creature repeated suspiciously. Then it perked up, bouncing and moving closer to the island's edge with a pleased giggle. "We knows! We knows! Chewy dwarvses running through the dark! Big Folks be showing them safe paths from goblinses!" "Shut up!"

'_Gandalf?_' Bilbo thought in relief. The wizard was with them, still. And it seemed the company had gotten out safe. It was as if a weight had lifted from Bilbo's shoulders he hadn't known he'd been carrying.

However, the blood ran cold in the hobbit's veins when he noticed just how the creature had worded its response.

Big Folk. That was hobbit language, a term no other races used.

_Impossible_.

Yet now that Bilbo got a closer look at the thing, the body proportions seemed to match those of a hobbit's. But the rest... _'Is this what lack of sunlight and green hills would do to our kind?_' he thought, horrified by the revelation. Bilbo knew there was a good reason for hobbits to live in such close symbiosis with nature, but this... This was too much. How long must have this poor, insane soul been living in darkness, alone? And why? Had it been kidnapped by goblins? Just how old was it - he?

Bilbo had to help, he realized. This was his kin, perhaps even someone he had known, long ago. A lost cousin, or uncle. Bilbo could not recall any disappearances in the Shire in the past few years, but a hobbit could have easily gone missing when he had been a wee fauntling without his notice.

Feeling as if a mushroom had lodged itself in his throat, Bilbo lowered his sword and stepped forward, approaching the edge of the lake. Beorn jerked beside him, but the hobbit shushed his friend. He couldn't just do nothing. He would explain it to the skin-changer once they got out of these tunnels.

"I- thank you. For telling me, I mean," he began.

The creature - the hobbit - glowered at him, then started hacking. It was an unusual sound, as if he was repeating "ollu" or "gollum" continuously. Bilbo shuddered.

"What may I call you?"

The creature didn't reply.

Bilbo continued tentatively. "You are a h-hobbit, aren't you?"

'Gollum', as Bilbo decided to name him for lack of anything better, cocked his head. "We's? Hobbitses?" He giggled. "No, no! We's be us, right Precious?"

Bilbo bit his lip. "But you are a hobbit."

"Not!" Gollum snapped, angry again, and kept muttering. "Nasty, stupid hobbitses. We should eats them, eats them whole. Soft and juicy little Bagginses..." he said, nodding to himself and fumbling with his dirty loincloth all the while.

Bilbo shook his head. "No, I told you..."

But before he could finish the sentence, he was left gaping as Gollum disappeared. One second he was standing there, the next he vanished into thin air. Bilbo scanned the island apprehensively. What on Arda?

Beorn let loose a loud, menacing growl. He had inched closer to Bilbo while he had been distracted, and now loomed behind him like a giant guard dog.

"Wait, Beorn! He's a hobb-"

Bilbo yelped when his ankle was suddenly snagged. He tripped, falling to the ground, as something invisible tugged on his foot, towards the water. Beorn roared in anger as the hobbit struggled against the pull, but there was no visible threat and the snapping jaws of his friend hit nothing but empty space.

"Beorn!" Bilbo shouted in a panic, his body already mostly submerged. All that kept him afloat was his grasp on a rock jutting out from the shore. Clutching his sword stronger, Bilbo stabbed in the direction of the pull blindly, but the blade was not long enough to reach his assailant. How was this happening? It had to be Gollum, no doubt. Yet how had he become invisible? How was he even able to swim? Hobbits were not like other races; they sank when in water because of their dense bones and large feet. Perhaps the creature wasn't a hobbit after all? Yet all other evidence suggested that he was.

The answer hit Bilbo like lightning. Gollum wasn't swimming. He was literally walking at the bottom of the lake. He just held his breath. This surely meant that there was a shallow path leading to the surface somewhere near the island. If only Bilbo could fight the mad fellow off, he could try and search for a way out of the water. And afterwards, maybe he could convince Gollum that Bilbo wasn't a snack, that he just wanted to help.

With that plan in mind, Bilbo sucked in a deep breath. He began to hum silently, like when he practiced with Beorn, in order to avoid freezing up when completely submerged. He couldn't afford to panic.

With determination he didn't know he possessed, Bilbo let go of the rock right as something jagged and sharp pierced his ankle. The air left Bilbo's lungs with an exclamation of pain. He kicked out frantically as he started to sink, but the sensation didn't let up - it only got worse. It was like something was gnawing at him! Did Gollum actually bite him?

Bubbles surrounded him, filling his vision and obscuring what little Bilbo would have been able to see while he struggled. He was drowning! And his foot was on fire! The hobbit swished his sword around with no attention to technique. It would have done him no good under water anyway. So he just wagged it around in erratic jerks, but remained careful not to slice his own leg off. When the blade finally caught on something solid and fleshy, the forceful clamp of teeth retreated. There was nothing holding on to him any longer, and Bilbo was free to stand in the slimy mud.

Without hesitation, he began to waddle in the direction he hoped the island to be, his lungs burning from the lack of air. He had to get to the surface!

Then Gollum was back. He clawed at Bilbo from behind, catching and biting his wrist when Bilbo attempted to bring his sword up. The blade fell, ebbedding itself into the sludge, as Bilbo tugged and clawed at the fingers squeezing his throat. However, Gollum was strong. He plastered himself to Bilbo's back, tugging and biting and tripping him. Bilbo couldn't hold out much longer. His vision was already blurring by the edges, his struggles getting weaker by the second.

In a last ditch effort to free himself, the hobbit reached for the knives on his belt with one hand, while the other fought with the fingers digging into his jugular. When a blade was freed from the leather pouch, Bilbo took a harsh hold of Gollum's invisible hand, and bent double, bringing the knife up to pierce behind him. Gollum went rigid when the knife slid into his body.

Bilbo winced, but steeled himself. He didn't want to kill his kin. Gollum had been driven mad, he mustn't have known what he was doing. He was pitiful, and Bilbo would certainly help him, if given the chance. Yet not at the cost of his own life. Still, he hoped he had just injured, however unlikely.

Gollum went slack, his grip loosening under Bilbo's hand. The hobbit tried to keep a hold of his insane kin, to pull him out of the water with him if he made it out at all, but his strength was waning. The cold, thin fingers slipped from his weak fist. And oddly enough, Gollum suddenly became visible again, just as he hit the bottom of the lake, the water surrounding them softening the impact.

Bilbo swayed with the current, opening his mouth in surprise, at which point the last of the air left his lungs with only a couple of bubbles to show. After a moment's pause, his eyes began to roll back into his skull. Before consciousness left him, he thought he saw a flash of a pale hand and dark hair swimming toward him.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:

Hello All,  
I'm afraid I must point out a rather bad error (plot hole) I made in the previous chapter. Obviously, this story is more a draft than anything, I'm typing it up as I post, even though I do have the general outline for the fic. Mistakes will sadly happen, and I didn't really plan on editing until I got to the end. This mistake is something I decided to fix, however.

Beorn doesn't shift with clothes magically transporting themselves onto his body.

Right, quite obvious, but I didn't make it seem that way. So I will be going back to the previous chapter and adding that tidbit, and try to deal with it in the oncoming events accordingly.

* * *

Chapter 8

Bilbo's eyes popped open when a cough tore out of his chest. Rolling to the side, he heaved and hacked while a copious amount of water was spewed forth, painting the grey rocks black.

"That's it, Bunny. Spit it all out," Beorn's voice encouraged. Bilbo glanced to the side, his watery eyes finding his friend kneeling beside him in his human form. A large hand was rubbing the hobbit's back as Beorn cooed soothingly.

"B-beorn," Bilbo groaned.

"Hush, little Bunny. Don't talk yet," the skin-changer said, patting his back.

Bilbo obliged, if only because another dose of water was rather insistent at clogging his windpipes. The hobbit continued to cough, until there was nothing left to purge. He rolled to his stomach with a whine, drawing his hands up to cover his face in despair.

He had nearly died. And he had killed to avoid that fate. He was a kinslayer. A murderer.

A silent sob left him, and his body shook - as much from the cold water he was drenched in as from grief. This couldn't be happening. Why? Why did it have to turn out this way? _Why?_

"Now, now," Beorn murmured a little awkwardly. "Don't cry, little one. You are safe. You fought well."

The words were no consolation. They only made Bilbo more upset.

"That's not- I was- It was a hobbit...!" he said, chocking up at the last. "It was a hobbit, Beorn!" he repeated, staggering to all fours, staring at his hands. His right wrist and left ankle throbbed where Gollum had bitten him, and his neck area was tender where it had been squeezed. Bilbo ignored it all. At least this time the chocking force was not enough to damage the airways, as far as he could tell. "I murdered my kin," he whispered.

Beorn scoffed, though the sound wasn't mocking. "That was not your kin," he said, then added before Bilbo could protest, "Perhaps it was once, long ago, but not any more. It was twisted, not right. I could smell the darkness oozing from it, coiling and vile. Do not mourn, for there was nothing good left in him to pity."

Bilbo shook his head in denial. How could he not feel pity?

When he gave no other reaction, Beorn pressed on. "Besides, has it not attacked you? You have done nothing but defended yourself. That is not what makes a murderer, yes?" he implored. "You have done what had to be done, Bunny. It is no use beating yourself up about it. You do not have the luxury, the time. Not now, not here."

Bilbo acknowledged the truth of that statement with a jerky nod. They were still in the cave, and goblins could happen upon them at any minute. The dwarves had also gone already, and Bilbo could not say with certainty that they wouldn't leave him behind if kept waiting for too long. In fact, the king had to be quite keen on the idea. If not for Gandalf, Bilbo would have surely been abandoned weeks ago.

Bilbo had to be strong. He had to push aside these feelings. He could not - would not - endanger the both of them because he couldn't deal with his emotions. Right now, they had to move. So the hobbit nodded resolutely, his eyes hardening. He lifted his head, taking stock of his surroundings.

It seemed they were not far from where Bilbo had originally stood while talking to Gollum. Beorn must have dragged him out after he managed to shift, depositing the hobbit on the closest available surface. Two or so feet to the left lay something metallic; Bilbo's elven sword. Beorn must have grabbed it while saving him. The hobbit bit his lip. His knife was nowhere to be found.

'_Of course not,_' he thought in self-deprecation. '_It is at the bottom of that accursed lake. Where you used it. Where you stabbed-'_

Bilbo shuddered. He wouldn't go down that road. No.

Instead of falling into despair, the hobbit cleared his mind, blocking out all but the bare minimum required to function. Still on his hands and knees, he inched to the side, wanting to grab his blade, knowing he would need it. He was grateful it wasn't lost. As he crawled, Beorn stood, wanting to help him up, no doubt. Yet just before Bilbo got the chance to touch the hilt, his attention was drawn to his other hand, the uninjured one supporting him. Underneath his palm, something was digging into his skin. The shape was odd, not at all natural, like one would expect. A stray stone would certainly not have been so smooth, so circular. Had he lost a button?

Bilbo lifted his hand, putting his weight on the other, and disregarding the sword for the moment. The object revealed was made of gold, gleaming and polished. A ring.

A flash of a memory assaulted Bilbo, of the struggle with Gollum. He shuddered as he recalled the moment Gollum had fallen, how he had become visible, and how Bilbo had clutched at his hand as it slipped, leaving behind... The ring.

The ring - which had made Gollum invisible. There was no other explanation. This had to be it. Bilbo must have kept hold of it by reflex. Yet the hobbit didn't see how it was at all possible for it to be here, on the shore. Hadn't he lost consciousness? The object should have slipped away the second his grip slackened. And yet... And yet. Something wasn't adding up, wasn't right.

Now was not the time to ponder on it, however. Beorn was already standing, picking up Bilbo's sword, and offering his other hand to help the hobbit to his feet. Bilbo glanced down at the ring once more, and came to a decision. He tucked it into his west-pocket, then let Beorn heft him up. His friend steadied him when he staggered, his ankle smarting horribly with the added weight. The bite had to be quite deep, worse than the one on his wrist.

"Thank you," Bilbo murmured. Beorn nodded with a smile. The hobbit stared into the kind eyes. "Really, thank you." He wasn't sure what he was thanking him for. Everything, mostly.

But Beorn seemed to understand, nonetheless. His grin widened and he patted the hobbit's head gently. "That's all right, little Bunny. Quite all right."

Bilbo sent a weak smile back. He could figure things out later. Maybe he could ask Beorn or Gandalf for their opinions. They were surely more knowledgable about magic rings than a simple hobbit from the Shire. Of course, this had to wait. Everything could be resolved later.

- FM -

"Why don't you, um, change?" Bilbo asked Beorn, as the man led them through the dark tunnels. The hobbit couldn't light a candle any longer, as all his possessions have been soaked in the lake previously. Also, his friend had opted to stay human for the remainder of their journey, and requested his clothes back from Bilbo despite their soggy state. The hobbit was concerned, to say the least. Weren't they going to get lost? He clung to Beorn's tattered shirt-hem, not wanting to get separated.

"Hm?" Beorn called back in a distracted tone. "Oh, well that wouldn't be a very good idea. You wouldn't want me to eat your dwarves when we meet them, now would you?"

"Eat them?" Bilbo repeated in confusion. "No, certainly not," he said slowly. "Why would you, though?"

Beorn chuckled. "I'm a bear, little Bunny."

"But-"

"When I shift, I become a predator, don't I? My thoughts remain my own in either form, but the bear is ruled by instincts," he explained. "I most definitely don't like dwarves, and to the bear, that emotion translates to 'attack on sight'. It is difficult, even if not entirely impossible, to control that urge."

"...Ah."

"I do like Bunnies, of course."

Bilbo gulped, realizing anew just how dangerous his friend could have been to his health, had he not taken a liking to the hobbit. Bilbo was quite lucky, wasn't he? "That- that is very good. Yes, very good," he stuttered out.

They walked silently for a while, as Bilbo tied not to fret about the information he had gained. It wasn't hard to find something to draw his attention; his foot was hurting horribly, and his limp was getting more pronounced the further they went. In the end, he started up the conversation again. As effective as pain was in clearing his head of other thoughts, Bilbo concentrating on it was not helping their pace.

"How do you know which way to go?" he asked, deciding to give voice to his doubts. As a bear, Beorn's superior senses would have allowed him to know the correct paths to take, but Bilbo came to realize the human was just as adept at navigating these shadowy passages.

Beorn shrugged. "I grew up in these mountains. I have not visited for many years, but some places are still familiar, and I could get us through even if they weren't."

"Really? I can't imagine you living anywhere else but outside," Bilbo remarked. Beorn without his garden? How absurd. Bilbo had always imagined Beorn to be similar to hobbits in that regard. Perhaps not.

"My people have dwelt here for generations, before the orcs and goblins came."

"You mean..."

"Most were slaughtered. Others, like my family were kept for entertainment. The males were hunted like game, for the commander's amusement. Azog, as they called him, found the chase fun. The women..." Beorn trailed off with a growl. "I had two sisters. Both died by their own hands."

Bilbo's mouth hung open in horror. The orcs had done that? Azog, the one the dwarves had talked about? And the women? What must they have suffered to take their own lives? And Beorn had lived through that. Watched his family murdered for fun, and committing suicide to avoid the atrocities the orcs subjected them to. Bilbo couldn't help but feel ashamed. Ashamed of his warm, cozy home, his simple life. Nothing so foul ever happened in the Shire, nor had the hobbits there - including himself - given much thought to the troubles of others. They went on blissfully unaware of the world around them, while others suffered. Bilbo knew it wasn't his fault, that Beorn's fate was not his doing, but it hurt him to think how immersed he had been in his own problems, while others had much more awful and horrible things to worry about than a broken vase. Even the dwarves... Of course, Bilbo was already helping the dwarves for just this reason, among others. Beorn though - he wanted to do something for him. But what could he hope to achieve? How could he ease such hurt? Bilbo couldn't bring his family back from the dead. How could a simple hobbit help?

"But you... You fought them off, didn't you?," he whispered. "You escaped."

"That I did. As far as I know, I'm the last of my kind."

Bilbo tightened his grip on Beorn's shirt. "I am glad you're alive. I'm glad I met you," he said, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

Beorn faltered, but regained his step a moment later. He cleared his throat. "As am I, little Bunny," he replied quietly. "As am I."

The two didn't talk after that. They walked on in silence until they finally reached the exit. The fresh air and gentle breeze felt blissful to inhale, even though Bilbo's teeth began to chatter. He had been cold before, but he was downright freezing now. He missed the winter coat he had lost when Myrtle had bolted, despite how it was probable it would have gotten just as wet as the rest of him. The whole experience had also sapped his energy, and he wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, which he couldn't do. Not yet, at least. The sun was sinking beneath the horizon slowly but surely, and the company was nowhere to be seen in the vicinity.

Bilbo thought he recognized the scenery from before, when he had ridden with Master Radagast, but the memory was a little hazy. Still, the tree-line was somewhat familiar. The dwarves had probably taken cover there if they waited - which Bilbo fervently hoped they did - to conceal their camp from wandering eyes.

Bilbo pointed ahead. "I think the company may be waiting a little further that way, behind the trees."

Beorn inclined his head. "I agree," he said. "We should hurry. I don't want to be near the caves after nightfall."

Bilbo grimaced. "Yes, that would be best."

However, once they began the trek, the hobbit had trouble keeping up. In the end, Beorn resorted to carrying him on his shoulder, securing him in place with a massive arm wrapped around his thighs. Bilbo was mighty embarrassed, but there was nothing for it. Either he sulked, or he got over it. The sun was setting and not only would the goblins pose a threat, but orcs would become more active, too. They had to reach the trees, fast. So Bilbo shut up and bore it in proper hobbit fashion.

The duo was close to their destination, when a familiar howl caused both of their heads to whip up. Bilbo had almost gotten used to the sound by now, he heard it frequently enough during his stay at Beorn's, and even more during their hike, but there was something different about it this time. The first howl was followed by numerous answering yips. The monsters sounded excited, as if they had found something, and there seemed to be a lot of them gathered in one place. A very close place, at that.

"Oh no..." Bilbo uttered. The dwarves! Did the orcs find them? What should they do- "Ah! Wait! Beorn!"

But Bilbo was already deposited on the ground, and Beorn was taking off, sprinting in the direction of the wargs, orcs, and most likely the company itself. The skin-changer was shifting mid-stride, spurting fur, and stumbling as his bones began to elongate, his clothes ripping and flaking off, floating to the grass in his wake. Still, he didn't stop running.

"Beorn!" Bilbo yelled, panicked, as he staggered after his friend. He cursed his lame foot, gritting his teeth while doing his best to ignore the pain. He had to hurry! The hobbit knew his friend meant well, that he wanted to help, if only for Bilbo's sake, but hadn't they just discussed his bear's tendency to attack things he disliked? What if he jumped a dwarf, instead of an orc? It was odd, how this time around he wasn't worried about Beorn - or at least not as much - rather about what he would _do_. After all, Bilbo had witnessed first-hand that the skin-changer could take care of himself. Now, he only hoped he would be fast enough to save the dwarves _from_ him.

So Bilbo ran, often hopping on his good leg to avoid straining his ankle. It was undignified and clumsy, but necessary. He reached the trees and dodged around their trunks, weaving his way around fallen logs and rocks littering the grass. Ahead of him, the yips intensified, and turned into snarls and roars. Bilbo could see a bright light flash up. Was that fire? The hobbit pushed himself even harder.

He was getting close. He could now make out a ring of flames that appeared to surround a bunch of fallen pines, a gathering of orcs and wargs pacing outside of it impatiently. '_Why are there so many?_' he thought in dismay. Where was Beorn? Even the bear would have trouble with so many enemies at once. And were those his dwarves and wizard hanging off the last tree, beyond the fire?

Bilbo had to duck down low, whirling to the left to avoid one of the beasts as it ran past him, yowling, its fur on fire. As soon as the monster left, the hobbit stood, only to watch in horror as the tree that housed the company began to twist, the roots snapping out of the ground. It swayed, then started to fall... right toward the edge of the cliff he had refused to climb earlier.

Bilbo stared, his mouth open in a silent 'oh'. He remained frozen, even his heartbeat felt like it had ceased, as he watched the scene unfold in slow-motion. However, the descent of the pine suddenly halted. Bilbo exhaled.

His relief died a sudden and quick death when he caught movement at the edge of his vision.

His attention was captured by an hulking, dark shape approaching the orc pack from behind, sneaking up on them at the far left, while the fiends were distracted by the company. Bilbo would have recognized the shape anywhere. Beorn was preparing to make his move.

The hobbit wanted to yell, to shout at his friend not to be stupid, he surely could only lose agains so many, he would die... But the bear leaped, already tearing up a warg's side with his claws, as his massive jaw clamped around the rider's head, and Bilbo's mouth snapped shut.

The bear snarled, moving to his next target before any could register the new presence properly. Chaos broke out among the orcs, as all of them turned to face the new threat belatedly, shrieking horrible battle cries while charging Beorn. The dwarves appeared to be almost forgotten by all. Almost, but for one; a massive, pale orc sitting astride a snow-white warg, who didn't even bother to glance at the skirmish. It didn't so much as twitch as its fellows were torn apart, staring fixedly over the flames.

Bilbo gulped, tearing his gaze away from Beorn and the pale orc, his breath catching when he saw the tree was tilting further and further over the ledge. Bilbo's eyes widened like saucers when a figure emerged from the inferno with a leap, shielding his face from the heat, then looking up right at the pale orc in plain challenge, his sword at the ready. The king.

'_By the Valar, what is he doing?_'

Bilbo was stupefied. He watched, dumb-struck, as Thorin Oakenshield glowered at his adversary. His massive adversary, sitting upon an equally massive warg, both of which seemed all too pleased by his appearance. The diminutive form of the dwarven king didn't even reach the warg's jaw. The orc had to be three times his size, if not more.

'_He wouldn't..._' Yet, of course he would. He was Thorin Oakenshield; stubborn, stupid king extraordinaire. Where was the rest of the company? Where was Gandalf? A swift glance told Bilbo they were still on the tree, hanging over the abyss precariously. He heard their yells and pleas for the king to stop, to wait, yet the leader ignored them all.

He crouched, most likely assuming a fighting stance Bilbo somewhat recognized, then charged. The orc urged its warg forward as well, riding to meet the king with a gleeful snarl. A crude mace was in its hand, the spikes glinting in the fire as it swished, heading right for the dwarf's chest. The clash was awful. Bilbo winced, snapping out of his daze as he followed the king's form flying through the air. Beorn was still occupied some distance from the two, decimating the orcs efficiently. The hobbit was relieved for his friend, the king, on the other hand...

That headstrong, petulant, stupid, brave, _idiot of a dwarf_, now hanging out of the white warg's jaws!

And Bilbo ran.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Why was he running? He didn't know. It was not his job to get the king out of his own messes. The dwarf wasn't Bilbo's friend. In fact, they shared no more than a mutual dislike for each other. The hobbit was only there to steal a stone for the company. He hadn't signed up for this. So why was he going headlong into danger to save the proud idiot?

Bilbo knew their mission would fail if the king died. Also, the dwarf was a ruler, and his people needed and depended on him. But the hobbit thought of none of that as he sprinted, the pain in his injured foot all but forgotten.

Someone was about to die, and there was no one there to help.

No one, except for a clumsy little hobbit (with a newly developed nasty tendency to disregard his safety and common sense altogether in the most inconvenient situations), who had no idea why he should be helping in the first place. Yet try he would.

Emphasis on the 'try'.

Because even as Bilbo rushed along, leaping over everything in his path and approaching the fighting pair swiftly, in the back of his mind he knew his chances of success were abysmal. It didn't matter.

As Bilbo got closer, he withdrew a knife from the pouch on his belt blindly. He didn't stop to aim, or consider the consequences. He just threw the blade with a - rather thin - battle cry as soon as the warg spat the king to the side, the dwarf rolling far enough that the hobbit didn't have to worry about accidentally hitting him. The knife missed the beast's paw by a few inches. The orc failed to even notice, and started speaking to the fallen king in a language Bilbo had never heard before. It sounded foul and oily, as if the words themselves were evil in nature.

Bilbo didn't stop though, he continued ahead, and readied his final knife. He drew his hand back beside his head as far as he was able, and let the small weapon fly. This time, it hit it's intended mark. It embedded itself into the pale orc's upper arm, the one holding the mace. Bilbo had the uncomfortable urge to giggle when he saw the blade looked to be no more than a needle in the enormous bicep.

The mace slipped in the orc's grip, but didn't fall, and the fiend whipped around with a snarl on its lipless, scarred face. So close was Bilbo, that he could have counted each sharp, blackened little tooth that was revealed.

The hobbit came to a screeching halt, now that the orc was focused on him. This was as far as his plan went. From the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw the dwarf struggle to his elbows, taking in the hobbit with a startled gasp.

'_Surprise_,' Bilbo thought hysterically, and not a little bitterly, while fumbling for his sword. When he finally managed to draw it forth, he registered the strong glow it emitted, making his vision eerily tinged with blue. Was it already so dark?

The pale orc's face soured as he took proper stock of his newest assailant. Its nose wrinkled in disgust, then it smiled an ugly, superior smile. It harrumphed, shrugging massive shoulders as Bilbo trembled beneath the gaze. And, just like that, the orc dismissed the hobbit as a threat. Its gaze narrowed as its head swiveled back to the prone form of the dwarf. Bilbo gulped, his tense muscles relaxing momentarily when that evil was no longer focused upon him. The tip of his blade tilted down, and he nearly collapsed in relief.

The orc began talking again, and a cold shiver rushed down the hobbit's spine. His back turned rigid as the creature urged its warg forward in slow, prowling steps. The king crawled back, a halting, painful progress, one of his hands searching for his fallen sword futilely as his gaze never left his adversary.

"And so shall the line of Durin end," the orc completed its speech in Westron, its eyelids dropping in pleasure. It lifted its mace high, while the other hand - which wasn't really a hand at all, Bilbo noted, rather a hook in place of the missing appendage - dug into the warg's fur. Bilbo jerked, the world slowing down for an unbearable heartbeat as he watched the orc's heel lift, preparing to kick its mount into faster motion on the final stretch to its prey.

Bilbo tripped forward, then he was running again, fast as he could. The few steps he had to take seemed like a mile each. His elven blade was angled forward, his eyes wide, pupils dilated, as he stumbled ahead to intercept the fiends. Bilbo hardly knew what happened next. Perhaps his eyes had closed of their own volition, or his mind had blanked, but the next moment the orc roared, the warg yelped, and Bilbo was tossed through the air, flying backwards, his empty hands flailing as he fell.

He hit the ground with a thud, landing on his side, and rolling with the momentum. He came to a halt facing the dark trees, the fire roaring behind him. A growl of rage caused him to jerk upright, his breathing erratic and fast. He didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to see. Bilbo felt like a small fauntling, hoping if he couldn't see the enemy, they would fail to notice him as well. Yes, hardly brave behavior, but when had the hobbit ever been brave? He was just a Shireling, a gentle-hobbit of comfort, not a warrior. What had he been thinking-

"You!" the orc roared, the voice full of rage.

Bilbo jumped, darting to his feet. Suddenly, he was indeed facing the pale monster, and no matter how his mind cried for him to _run!_ to _hide!_ Bilbo remained frozen to the spot, unable to move at all. Beorn would have been so disappointed... But he couldn't hum, no song came to him, not now...

"You filthy little creature! I shall make you regret this! You will scream for me!" it growled, stepping over the fallen warg - dead? Bilbo could hardly believe it, impossible - and marching toward the shaking hobbit, the mace high over its head, ready to obliterate anything in its path-

And then there was a dark blur approaching with a low rumble and high screeching sounds coming from the sky above, and Bilbo had no idea what was going on.

The blur connected with the approaching orc, and they rolled and snarled at each other. Something massive and feathery swooped down on great wings further back, and grabbed one of the other orcs Beorn hadn't yet gotten to in sharp talons, flying to the edge of the cliff, and throwing the fiend over. Beorn... Beorn was the blur, he was now facing the pale orc with a vicious snarl, standing between it and the hobbit. There were dwarfs charging out of the fire, coming to defend their king at last, but the gigantic birds began picking them up one by one, and for a second, Bilbo thought they would be tossed into the abyss as well. Yet that was not the case; the dwarfs were deposited upon the feathered backs and carried off to safety. Even the king, Bilbo saw, was snatched up and carried away, then a bird was heading Bilbo's way, too.

The hobbit felt immense relief for a moment. It lasted only until his attention was again drawn to Beorn, crouched low and ready to pounce upon the orc, who sneered and stood ready to take the assault.

Because Beorn was a bear, and much too large for one of their winged saviors to carry. Because Beorn seemed to be injured, his dark pelt glistening in the firelight with something thick and wet. Because Beorn was attacking again, and clashing with the great orc, but the orc was too big, too clever, too strong to be as easily defeated as the rest of its kin...

And Bilbo dodged the bird that swooped down to pick him up.

"Beorn!" he yelled, "Beorn!" But the bear didn't react, much too focused on the orc.

Bilbo scanned his surroundings in a panic, watching out for the birds all the while, lest he be snatched up before he could duck. He couldn't leave yet, not without his friend. He spotted the white warg's carcass a few feet to his left, where the beast had fallen to his small sword.

The glowing elven sword, which was now sticking out of the warg's neck, embedded deep in its flesh, was angled upwards so that the tip had probably entered the beast's skull, piercing the brain. Undoubtedly dead, then.

Bilbo gulped, then steeled himself. With half an eye on the fighting duo who were currently circling each other menacingly, the hobbit inched ahead, intent on reclaiming his blade. Perhaps he could distract the orc long enough for Beorn to shift, so the birds could take his weight?

He managed to reach the warg unnoticed, and immediately began tugging on the sword lodged in its flesh. It took a few tries to pull the blade out, and Bilbo stumbled back as it finally slipped free, the glow of the metal muted by disgusting, black slime. The hobbit grimaced as the foul blood dripped upon his hand, his skin crawling, but he had more important things to worry about at the moment. How was he to attack the orc without getting in the middle of a clash? Because even as he watched, the fighting pair ran at one another, Beorn swiping out with his claws and the orc swinging its own weapon fiercely. Then they backed away from each other again, circling and assessing their opponent.

Bilbo bit his lip. Perhaps if he could throw something, instead of charging in... His knife! One of his knifes had to be close by! The one he had first thrown. Frantically, Bilbo looked around, searching the grass for the hilt. He finally found it a little further still, and jumped, snatching it up. With the weapon in hand, he edged back behind the warg's body, seeing the fight had moved further from the fire, but still remained within throwing distance.

Bilbo took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes trained on the orc without blinking. He had to wait for the perfect moment. The opportunity presented itself when Beorn and the orc positioned themselves far enough apart, and they stood parallel with the fire. Bilbo had a clean shot. He couldn't waste it.

Steadying his hand and hardening his resolve, the hobbit took careful aim this time around. The pale orc was snarling something in its black language, and Beorn seemed to be staggering a little, exhausted and injured. The hobbit grit his teeth.

"Take that!" he muttered lowly, and threw the knife as hard as possible. The blade sailed through the air, and Bilbo followed its course with bated breath until, finally, it struck. It hit the pale orc square in the right eye. The hobbit stumbled back in disbelief of his own feat when it roared in pain, dropping the mace, and clawed at its face. Beorn whipped his head around, spotting Bilbo's shaking form behind the warg.

"Beorn!" the hobbit yelled when he found his voice. "Beorn, we must-NO!" Bilbo screamed as his feet left the ground, enormous talons wrapping around his shoulders without actually piercing him. He struggled in the bird's grasp, wanting desperately to get to his friend. "Beorn! You must change!" The bear stared at him, then turned back to the orc with a snarl.

"Beorn, no!"

What was the skin-changer doing? This was his chance! He could be left behind if he continued! More orcs were sure to come after such a commotion, he didn't have time! Yet Bilbo could only watch as the bear got ready to pounce again, even as he favored one of his front legs, and was bleeding from numerous other wounds. Bilbo wanted to cry, but he struggled with the bird harder than ever. He was carried higher and higher, with no hope for escape.

"Please, Beorn!" he shouted in desperation. His friend finally glanced back up then. Bilbo pleaded with his gaze, begging him not to do this, to move... And Beorn's snarl gradually melted away. His great head swiveled to take in the cursing orc as it clutched at its bleeding eye, Bilbo's tiny knife discarded already. Ever so slowly, the bear ambled backward. Then as if coming to a sudden, reluctant decision, he tore his gaze off his opponent, and began running, stumbling toward the fire and dashing through the flames, his fur receding before it could begin to burn and his limbs shortening.

Mesmerized, Bilbo followed his friend's changing frame reach the spot the great pine had previously stood in, the tree missing altogether. Now very close to a man in appearance, Beorn jumped. Bilbo's heart stuttered in his chest. He was screaming on the inside, yet was unable to make a sound, but then a sharp whistle left the falling form. A bird, the largest one yet, swooped down as if from nowhere, and then Beorn was on its back, gliding through the air after the hobbit and the rest of the company. Bilbo was also released from the talons, and connected with a feathered back.

Stunned, the hobbit could only follow Beorn with his gaze, hardly daring to believe it. They survived. They were okay. And Beorn better be prepared for the tongue lashing of his life for scaring Bilbo so badly.

- FM -

They flew throughout the night. The great birds - eagles, as Bilbo determined - couldn't safely land among the relatively dense foliage below, their bodies too large, so the company was carried until they could find suitable ground. It was dawn by the time they reached a high rock-formation with a flat stretch at the very top, upon which the eagles could land one by one, allowing their respective riders to climb off.

By now, Bilbo was beside himself with worry. After the adrenalin had worn off, and he had calmed down, it had occurred to the hobbit that some of his companions - most notably Beorn and the king - could be severely wounded, and had to get treated as soon as possible. What did the rescue matter if they died from blood-loss during the flight? From what Bilbo saw, Beorn seemed to be sitting upright and moving around on his mount, but Master Oakenshield was still carried in talons, presumably unconscious.

So Bilbo watched, positively vibrating with nervous tension, as first the king got placed gently on the hard rock, his body unbearably limp. His sword, which had been clutched to his body by the talons, rolled uselessly to the side.

Next was Gandalf, and the wizard immediately raced to the king's side, knelt down and murmured under his breath. The rest of the dwarves arrived one by one, crowding around their leader and watching the proceedings in disbelief, horror and hope.

Just as Bilbo's eagle finally got it's turn, and the hobbit managed to scramble off and landed in an undignified heap when his ankle gave out, a cheer rang out, and the hobbit whipped his head up to see the company laughing in relief as Gandalf towered over them with a smile. The dwarves all had their backs turned to Bilbo, and they somewhat obscured his sight, but he thought he saw the king twitch and lift his hand.

The hobbit smiled a little, grateful for this small mercy, but was now focused on his giant of a friend as the skin-changer stumbled off his eagle not far from Bilbo. His movements lacked their usual grace, and his stance was hunched, although he did take the time to turn to his eagle with kind eyes and murmur words of thanks and appreciation. The great feathered head dipped low in a regal bow, and Beorn bid it farewell as it took to the air with a few powerful swipes of its wings.

"Beorn!" Bilbo called, struggling out of the straps of his pack and attempting to stand. The skin-changer immediately straightened his posture, and whipped around with a grin plastered on his face.

"Little Bunny!"

Bilbo glared as his friend loped over as if nothing was wrong, and snatched the wriggling hobbit into a literal bear-hug. "Put me down!" he demanded, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment at being held so close by someone naked.

Beorn did so with a pout, still appearing much too happy to be sincere. His smile was just a bit too wide, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes a tad too tight.

"You- You idiot!" Bilbo snapped. He wasn't about to allow Beorn to brush this off! "Do you have any idea how worried I was?" he said, riffling through his backpack with jerky, aggressive movements, looking for something large enough that Beorn could wear as a makeshift loincloth to preserve his dignity, not that the skin-changer appeared bothered by his own display. The hobbit only had his mother's raincoat that could possibly extend all the way around the man's hip, so he tossed that over, along with with some coarse rope to hold it up.

"You were almost left behind, alone, and I couldn't do anything but watch, and you took on all those orcs at once, and - oh, Eru, you're bleeding everywhere, does it hurt a lot? Where does it hurt most? We have to-"

His ramble was interrupted by an indulgent chuckle, and Bilbo's glare was back tenfold. "You..." he began indignantly.

"I'm fine, little Bunny, much thanks to you. You were very brave," Beorn said, fiddling with the cloth and finally managing to secure it by folding it around his hips. To Bilbo, the result almost looked like a skirt - a much too short one. The sight would have been amusing if he wasn't so upset.

Bilbo swallowed uncomfortably, shaking his head. "No, I couldn't do anything! You were fighting with that pale monster, and I was carried off, and I thought you..." Bilbo trailed off, his throat feeling tight and hot, as if a burning ball had lodged itself there. It was as if he was there again, dangling high above the ground uselessly as his friend remained to fight a battle he was unlikely to win so injured, despite the small advantage Bilbo managed to win with his tiny blade. Refusing to back down. Refusing to come with Bilbo. The hobbit had been so terrified, so miserable, so hurt...

Beorn's face darkened at the mention of the large orc, and his happy mask crumbled somewhat as he answered. "That was Azog," he said quietly.

Bilbo's mind turned blank.

Suddenly, the events made much more sense.

"Azog?" he whispered in horror. The cruel orc commander who was responsible for Beorn's suffering? The one that enslaved his family and slaughtered his people? "But Master Balin said..." The dwarf had said the monster was dead, felled by Thorin Oakenshield himself. Oh, Eru! That was why the dwarf king had acted so bold, so stupid! And Beorn... No wonder he had been reluctant to leave. But then, he had given it up in the end.

For Bilbo.

The hobbit didn't notice when the tears began falling. He didn't even know why he was crying. He was just so relieved, so grateful, so humbled and so angry and sad! All the emotions were washing over him in tidal waves, and the hobbit couldn't take it anymore. He had no outlet, and he felt so much unfamiliar hate mixed in, hate for the orcs, for Azog, and he wanted to hurt the ones that hurt his friend so badly...

"Hush now, Bunny. It's over," Beorn murmured, patting his head. "It's all right now."

"How could it be all right?" Bilbo sniffled, choking up miserably. "It was Azog, and you fought him, and if only I was stronger, I could have helped more," he said, leaning closer to Beorn and clutching the hem of his raincoat, already dotted by blood from one of the numerous gashes on his friend's body. So much blood. If only he was better, faster, surely Beorn wouldn't have gotten into such a state. They could have taken on the orcs together, Beorn shouldn't have been alone!

"Silly Bunny," Beorn said, kneeling down and hiding a wince Bilbo caught nonetheless. "You fought well, my fierce friend. You saved my hide with that knife of yours. I was certainly losing that battle. And if not for you, where would I be right now? Back at the mountain, either dead, or awaiting death by the hands of the raiding orc parties that came to check the disturbance. You did more for me this day than any have in long-long years," he said, wrapping a massive arm around Bilbo's shoulders and drawing him closer.

"But Azog-"

"Azog is my past. I shouldn't have allowed my judgement to slip so," he said with an annoyed scowl. "I would certainly love to tear him to shreds if given the chance, but I should not give up my future for such a useless purpose. What happened has happened, and it is foolish to live in the past. Regrettably, as a bear, my instincts picked up on this weakness of mine. Revenge, after all, is the downfall of the greatest. It taints and consumes the soul, and I believed myself above such feelings until my bear forced me to face them. I cannot express how grateful I am to you for being there. Petty revenge is not worth giving up my life for."

And even though Bilbo agreed, he couldn't help feeling awed by this man's strength, by his conviction. With a sniffle, he threw himself forward, burying his face in a bloody shoulder.

"You are the strongest, most incredible person I have ever met," he murmured, swallowing back his sobs. "Truly, I am honored to have met you."

Soft and gentle, Beorn put his hands on Bilbo's chest, and pushed him far enough to see his face. Suddenly, his forehead was touching Bilbo's, and he closed his eyes. "You are a good friend, Bilbo Baggins. Thank you."

Before Bilbo could begin to formulate a response, he jumped in fright when a presence appeared behind him.

"Master Burglar," the voice murmured.

Startled despite not being touched, the intruder was close enough that the hobbit crashed into him as he stumbled back from Beorn.

A pained hiss, then, "Careful."

Bilbo glanced up, and found himself face to face with the king.

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A/N: Yep, beggin' for reviews again... LoL

Oh, and I've prepared a treat for the next chapter; an interlude of Thorin's POV! ;D


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: So, here's the Thorin POV I promised.

This chapter is not strictly part of the fic. It's just a snapshot into Thorin's mind, because this is the point at which his relationship with Bilbo will begin to change. As such, you are not actually required to read it to understand the story, just something I thought interesting enough to add.

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Chapter 10

Interlude - Of confused dwarves and odd halflings

Thorin Oakenshield was... baffled. And pissed and grateful and regretful. But mostly just baffled. Not in his wildest dreams - or nightmares - could he have conjured up such an impossible turn of events.

When the wizard had informed him he had found a suitable burglar, Thorin had dared to hope. But that feeling had been as fleeting as it had been painful; it had broken like fine porcelain, consuming his mind with a million sharp, jagged shards, shredding his psyche and taunting his foolish naïveté with cruel jabs. Had he not learned? All those long years, all the betrayal, and he still dared to trust?

The wizard had led him to a hobbit. A _hobbit_.

Not much was known about the race, but the dwarves had encountered halflings before. Thorin had been aware of their kind - peace-loving, gentle, soft. They never even left their villages, hiding away from the rest of the world, living in their own comfort with nary a care for the rest of Middle-Earth. Ignorant little things, and foolish too, in that if war found them, they would be so woefully unprepared, the lot of them would be slaughtered within a day. Distasteful twerps, not an ounce of fight in them. And Gandalf expected one to help. To help _Thorin's_ people.

That damned wizard! Did he take Thorin for an idiot? Was he so dismissive of the quest for Erebor that he would mock the dwarves by forcing a hobbit upon them, as if the little thing could do anything but cover behind them? The halfling would be completely useless, a burden, and Gandalf expected Thorin to not only degrade himself by asking for the hobbit's assistance, but to accept him with open arms? Well, he had another thing coming!

Thorin would show him, show them all, how useless and inadequate the hobbit really was. He was king, he had his pride, and the wizard would learn not to disrespect him so. Gandalf was a good addition to their company, but Thorin was not about to accept this blatant belittling of their cause. Taking back Erebor was important to Thorin, to his people. It had been a dream of his grandfather's, his father's, and Thorin would be damned if he didn't at least try, now that he had the chance, however slim. Durin's Folk would prosper once again if they succeeded, and Thorin could finally provide them the lifestyle they deserved. His people could be the proud and strong nation they once were, not forced to live like common _men_. They shall mine gold once again, take back their ancestral home, theirs by right!

So Thorin had shown them. The halfling, as expected, had been a soft, blubbering idiot, unprepared and unwilling to take on such a task. He was young, his features and hands as soft as his spirit, with shining golden-brown curls and pouty lips unobscured by a beard. Thorin doubted he could even grow one. Just like his kin, he lived a simple life in his cozy, warm home, fussing about the most mundane things, unable to fight because he had no more need for such a skill than Thorin had need of him, and Thorin had been so disappointed, so angry...! While his people had been attacked by dragons, fought wars, this little thing's biggest concern was stuffing his face with food...! And above all that, he had dared poke fun at Thorin when the king had implied as much, disrespecting him in front of his entire company!

Oh, how Thorin had hated him. Had hated him even more when he had actually shown up the next morning, agreeing to accompany them. Thorin saw it for what it was; pity. As if dwarves ever wanted pity! Especially from soft, useless halflings! And so, Thorin had raged. Many a time, he had wished he could wring that pudgy little neck, hardly noticing as it turned skinnier, frailer, and when he had, it was only to note the halfling appeared even weaker than before. He was not a warrior, or even a traveler - one only had to look at him, wasting away already when they had hardly encountered any hardship at all. Useless!

And then they had come across the trolls. Thorin had accepted, if only grudgingly, that the hobbit at least had a good head between his pointed ears. But what would a sharp mind help against orcs and dragons? One could not cut down an enemy with wit alone. Yes, the halfling had saved them from a lot of spilt blood - and here Thorin had resolutely ignored the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that the hobbit had no reason to actually help them after all they had done to alienate him, clinging to his justified anger - but then the halfling had proven his inadequacy by getting caught. He had been so injured, he couldn't even breathe, let alone stand, and Thorin would be forced to slow down, to make one of his own carry and drag the hobbit along, because he couldn't even run. If danger found them in this state, his dwarves would be forced to protect their so-called burglar, risking their necks because the halfling didn't so much as have the strength to hide. Hadn't Thorin said so from the start? He would not have his own sacrificing their lives for the useless thing! He had told Gandalf he would not be responsible for his fate, and Thorin could and would leave the hobbit behind to save his people. It wasn't something he particularly wanted to do - despite all his rage he didn't wish the hobbit dead if wild animals or orcs came upon him while he couldn't move - but if he had to choose between the burglar and his dwarves, the success of their quest, there was no question about his decision.

But then that other wizard had shown up, whisking the halfling away. As much as Thorin hated to admit it, he felt relieved. He wouldn't have to choose between his people and an innocent life. It was for the best. Surely once the halfling recovered, he would come to his senses and leave for his cozy home. Yes, there was no doubt; the hobbit would finally leave. This was his chance, and Thorin was certain he was not stupid enough to waste it.

Afterwards, he had all but forgotten about the hobbit, so sure was he that they would never meet again. Not a second thought was spared, his attention all focused upon the foul elves their traitorous wizard had led them to. The company had wasted weeks in that godforsaken gaudy place, forced to play nice with their sworn enemies, all because Gandalf had insisted the tree-shaggers could read his map. How he loathed the idea of handing over such a sacred item! And shame above all, the elf Lord had been indeed capable of reading the ancient language of his people, when he himself couldn't. It had been such a degrading situation, it was all Thorin could do not to slaughter the lot of their hosts in retaliation. And then they had to spend yet more time there, waiting for the correct phrase of the moon to reveal the secrets the map held. Naturally, as soon as the elf Lord read him the contents hidden by the clever use of moon-runes, Thorin had alerted his company the next day to be prepared to depart. He had no doubt whatsoever that they would be stopped if they failed to escape soon. The opportunity arose when the elf's household had gotten distracted by the arrival of some important personnel or another, Gandalf knee-deep in the happenings, and without hesitation Thorin had sneaked his dwarves away, leaving their wizard to deal with the fallout. The man deserved it for bringing them there against Thorin's express wishes anyway.

It turned out to be one of the worst decisions he had ever made. Without Gandalf, there was little the company could do against a whole colony of goblins that appeared to inhabit the mountains. Thorin had expected an encounter or two with the fiends, but he had never imagined a complete kingdom with thousands of the foul things living so close to the mountain pass. Their kind rarely banded together in such numbers these days, there were few leaders among them strong enough to keep control of more than a small group. The company had been caught after seeking shelter from the rampaging stone-giants they had crossed paths with, and had been very nearly slaughtered when the wizard had finally caught up with them, saving them from certain doom with a magic trick that had knocked out all the goblins for a minute at least. It had been a struggle to get out of the caves nonetheless, the fiends awoke and swarmed them like murderous flies descending upon a stack of meat, but the company did manage to get away in the end, even slaying the goblin king on the way out. Thorin would have been proud of their accomplishment if he hadn't been so keenly aware it had been nothing but luck that had stayed fate's hand. He would never leave the wizard behind again, certainly. One such situation had been enough to convince Thorin about the necessity of the man's presence.

He had been forced to reconsider his earlier conviction when Gandalf demanded that they wait for the halfling once out in the open. Thorin had been ready to tear his hair out, seriously considering strangling the mad wizard there and then. Didn't the istar understand the halfling would not be coming back? His faith in the hobbit was admirable, but quite misplaced. Of course, Thorin being Thorin had said as much, which resulted in a long argument while the king surreptitiously herded the company towards the tree-line. But before he could make it as far as find a path leading to the valley bellow, Gandalf had gotten so angry about his refusal to 'see reason' and wait for the burglar, that he had all but manhandled Thorin to a halt near a clearing, giving him a piece of his mind on the matter. Thorin had mostly tuned it out, but finally, he had reluctantly agreed to camp there for the night. It had been getting late anyway, and the trees would provide adequate cover if they stayed quiet and didn't light a fire. Stupid halfling! Delaying them even while absent!

The sound of a warg's howl had been all that Thorin needed on top of everything that day. Mahal damn it all! And it was all the halfling's fault! They would have been far away if not for waiting on the hobbit in vain! Oh, if Thorin ever saw him again...! But then the orcs had been upon them, all riding wargs, and it had turned out to be such a large pack, the company had no hope of defeating them in their exhausted state. They had climbed the trees, but the beasts had thrown themselves upon the trunks with such force, the pines' roots couldn't hold under the strain. The dwarves had hopped from branch to branch, tree to tree, like demented monkeys, finally reaching the last one standing with nothing but the black abyss gaping below.

Then Thorin had spotted Azog. Azog, who should have been long dead. Azog, who had slaughtered his people, killed his family. _Azog_.

Thorin's mind had been curiously blank as he caught the eyes of the pale orc. They had stared at each other, completely focused. Thorin could not hear a sound, except for the blood rushing through his ears, deafening him to all else. He hadn't even noticed when flames sprung up around them, because his whole world had been narrowed to a pair of disgusting, beady black eyes, filled with malice and glee. He had hardly reacted to the pine beginning to tilt underneath them, just tightening his grip on the trunk, gaze glued to Azog unflinchingly.

When the fiend had smiled, baring his teeth in a parody of a grin, something snapped within Thorin. Tightening his abdomen, he had swung his leg over the trunk to straddle it, now noticing he had been hanging there in quite a precarious position, his feet dangling freely underneath. He had then crawled towards the jutting roots, and stood when he reached the rocky ledge. A great roar caused his eyes to flick to the side, and he spotted a monstrous bear decimating the orcs' ranks. He blinked, detached and not really comprehending, and brought his focus back on Azog.

Azog, whose black blood should be but a forgotten speck in the dirt at Moria's gates, not flowing in his veins. Thorin wanted that blood - thirsted for it - wanted it to dye his clothes black, needed to see it spurting out of Azog's jugular like a dying man needed water.

He had begun to walk forward as if in a trance, pulled by an unseen force. Flames had licked at his clothes and beard, but Thorin just shielded his face and leaped through. Orcist had been in his hand, even though he could not remember drawing it in the first place. And then Azog had tilted his head mockingly, and Thorin was running, they were both running, and then-

_Pain_.

That had certainly snapped Thorin out of his daze. His ribs had bent as the mace connected, Thorin had been able to feel them creaking as he was hit with such force, he had flown backwards, thankfully managing to keep a hold of his sword as he landed, bouncing on the grass like a puppet with its strings cut. And then the white warg had been towering over him, jaws clamping down around his left shoulder, and Thorin had yelled out in pain as his armor was pierced by impossibly strong fangs. He had brought up his sword, swatting at the beast's snout, and he had been tossed again, his lungs expelling air in a whoosh as he had hit the ground.

Mahal, it had hurt, and he had been so dizzy, but there was no time, Azog was forming words with those disgusting lips, and Thorin had tried hard to concentrate as the orc led his mount forward. He needed his sword, where was his sword, he had to find it...!

And then the halfling had been there, appearing as if out of thin air. A small, glowing blade had been thrust forward, and the white warg had jerked, its great head connecting with the hobbit and propelling him back. The beast had then stilled, falling sideways, causing Azog to roll off. The orc had gotten to his feet immediately, but didn't make for Thorin. Instead, he had gone for the halfling.

Thorin couldn't let this happen, he had to get up, he had to fight, Azog was _his and his alone_ to deal with... But darkness had been creeping into his vision, and the king had fallen back with his sword finally clutched in his hand, unconscious.

It had truly been pathetic of him. To be so useless, unable to defend himself, and saved by the hobbit, of all people. The irony wasn't lost on Thorin. After regaining his senses, he paid no mind to the disorienting change in surroundings. Gandalf's large face was hovering above him, breaking out in a relieved smile when Thorin opened his heavy lids. Mahal, his body ached, and he felt so weak, but the halfling-

Thorin had to know. What had become of him? Had the hobbit been killed? Murdered while trying to save Thorin? The king licked his lips, opening and closing his mouth, forcing his parched throat to produce sound, but it proved to be quite difficult. A whole bunch of dwarves were suddenly crowding around him, cheering for him and laughing, and finally Oin had enough sense to offer Thorin a waterskin after he still failed to form coherent words, despite opening and closing his mouth like a fish continuously.

"The burglar," he forced out, "what became of him?"

It was Gandalf that answered. "He is fine my boy, safe and sound, right over there," he said pointing at some place over the numerous dwarf-heads with a bright smile, all of which turned to look with curiosity and some measure of awe.

Safe? The halfling had survived? How was it possible? It had been Azog he had faced, no one came away from such an encounter unscathed. Not that Thorin wasn't grateful. He was honestly very much relieved. When he noted the emotion however, annoyance washed all else to the background. He wasn't about to admit to worrying about the hobbit after all, not even to himself. What had the idiotic halfling been thinking, anyway? He could have been killed! He should never have come back, let alone thrown himself in in the path of The Defiler to save _Thorin_. The king had never been kind to him, belittled him with deliberate -but necessary - cruelness any chance he had gotten, so why had the hobbit done such a reckless thing only to save him?

It made no sense. In his place, Thorin would have certainly not acted so. Would he have left the hobbit to his fate if he had to choose between his own life or the other's? Probably. So why had Bilbo Baggins done the opposite of what any rational person in his situation would have? Thorin didn't know.

Perhaps he could chew out the halfling about his reckless actions, if only to alleviate his anger at his own failings, his mounting confusion, and the unfortunate feelings the whole situation had awoken in him. Afterwards, he could thank their burglar, offer repayment of such a deserving deed as was honorable, and that would be that. With that plan firmly in mind, he attempted to rise from the uncomfortable rock, but he needed help, no matter how much he resented it. Dwalin was there, pulling him up as gently as he could, and when Thorin finally staggered to his feet, he immediately began searching for the hobbit with his gaze.

When he spotted him some distance away, at first, Thorin wasn't entirely sure what he was seeing. What in the name of Mahal...?

The hobbit was standing with his back to Thorin. But what really threw the king was the great, half-naked, giant of a man kneeling in front of their burglar, his face inching down towards the hobbit's, until Thorin could see the expression he wore no longer, obscured by thick, curly hair. What were they... was that man kissing their hobbit? Thorin's eyes popped open wide when he took it all in. What had that little idiot gotten himself into this time? Never mind; Thorin was not about to watch their burglar get molested by some stranger, a _male_ stranger, after all the hobbit had done for him- them- the _company_!

And Thorin was already walking before he realized it, approaching the pair with determined steps and a scowl on his face. He was but a few paces away when the scowl began melting into a frown of confusion. He could now see the very side of the hobbit's face as well as most of the giant's, and noticed that the two were not, in fact, kissing.

'_Of course they wouldn't be kissing!_' he told himself. '_Why would anyone want to kiss their burglar? Small, weak little thing that he was...'_

But their burglar was pretty enough, and he wasn't exactly weak at all, was he? He had been brave, regardless of his physical deficiencies, saving Thorin...

No, that was not the point! Why was the hobbit crying? But he was smiling, too. What? Thorin was utterly baffled. He didn't know what to do, what to think, what to feel. In the end, he just stepped closer, assuming a firm expression to disguise his churning, confused emotions.

"Master Burglar," he murmured.

He wasn't at all satisfied when the little halfling jumped, far apart from the giant and closer to Thorin. Why would he be pleased by such a thing? No, it wasn't satisfaction. It was... something else. Yes, something else.

Oh, why wasn't anything making sense anymore?


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Master Oakenshield!" Bilbo breathed, a little confused and apprehensive. "I- Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" he said, jerking away from the king when he saw the pained grimace the dwarf sported and rubbing his face to hide the tears with a mortified blush.

Beorn scowled and straightened, glaring down at the dwarf from his impressive height.

"Master Dwarf," he greeted, and Bilbo had to give him some credit; the disdain in his voice was quite tempered compared to the outbursts the company's mere mention usually provoked.

The king's expression darkened at the tone, and he sneered. "Who are you? Why are you here?" he snapped, and swept Bilbo aside to glare at the skin-changer. The hobbit staggered, but righted himself quickly, glancing back at the king with furrowed brows. The gesture wasn't as mean as much as it was slightly protective, and poor Bilbo was understandably gobsmacked. The temporary confusion, however, was dismissed and forgotten by way of the rising indignation Bilbo felt at the rude ungratefulness the king had addressed Beorn with.

Even if Beorn had started it. Yes, Bilbo was a little biased. He didn't feel guilty about it either.

"This is Master Beorn, and you'd do well to thank him," he interjected testily. "He did come to your rescue."

The dwarf jerked as if slapped, and he rounded on Bilbo. "What?"

"I said he tried to save you, so stop being rude to him!"

The king's lips clicked shut before he could spit back an answer, likely an insult in the making. He visibly swallowed back his anger, gritting his teeth as he eyed the hobbit for a long moment. Bilbo was simply amazed. What odd behavior.

"Master Burglar," the dwarf enunciated carefully, "I should think I would have noticed a man of his stature... helping us."

Bilbo cocked his head to the side. He didn't know? Then again, he wouldn't, would he? The king likely lost consciousness not long after Azog's attention had left him, and even if he had been awake, Beorn had not shifted until the dwarves were far ahead, so they may not have seen. Now Bilbo felt a little bad for not explaining properly, but before he could open his mouth, Beorn beat him to it.

"Idiot dwarf," he snorted, and Bilbo had to clamp down on the urge to smack the back of his head for acting like a petulant fauntling.

"Master Beorn is a skin-changer," the hobbit interrupted, not wanting Beorn to rile the king further. "He can shift forms and become a bear. He was the one that attacked the orcs."

The king's eyes widened. "Skin-changer?"

Bilbo nodded and the dwarf's gaze darted back and forth between him and Beorn, at a loss.

"Master Radagast left me at his house, so I was Beorn's guest for these past weeks."

"That's right," Beorn chimed in happily, reaching for Bilbo and drawing him close to ruffle his curls. "We had a lot of fun, didn't we, little Bunny?" he said, sending a razor-sharp smile at the king over the oblivious hobbit's head.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, wargs and orcs and a lot of sword fighting," he mumbled, only half-joking.

"You said it," Beorn crowed, and the hobbit realized the above were, in fact, what made Beorn a happy bear.

Meanwhile, the king stood in place as if rooted, observing them quietly. He cleared his throat and smoothed his dark expression with much effort, as far as Bilbo could tell from the pained process. The dwarf really was acting rather strange. All the self-control had to have hurt.

"Master Burglar," he began, "if I may have a word?"

"You already had much more than that," Beorn muttered, but Bilbo ignored him.

"Of course," he answered, wondering what this was about. He shot Beorn a warning glare that had once upon a time caused Lobelia Sackville-Baggins to stutter, and stepped away, limping further so that the king and him could have some measure of privacy. Whatever he had to say better be fast, because those injuries he had sustained needed attention, and Beorn had to be checked and probably stitched up as well. Bilbo very much hoped Master Oin would be kind enough to help his friend, if only-

"I am in your debt."

-because of the assistance... Bilbo blinked. "Um, what?"

The king exhaled in frustration. "I am indebted to you. You have saved my life," and here, he sounded as confused as Bilbo himself felt at the moment, "and risked your own. Such an act is befitting of gratitude."

Bilbo tried very hard not to gape. '_Why not just thank me then?'_

When no verbal response was forthcoming from the hobbit, the king continued. "I will do my utmost to repay you in any way I can."

Bilbo shook his head to clear it.

Well, this was quite a shock. Though the magic words never actually left the proud dwarf's mouth, Bilbo was stunned enough by the allusion alone. Was this why he kept acting halfway decent? And Bilbo just had to nearly die for it to happen.

The hobbit didn't know if he should laugh or give in to the bitterness bubbling under the surface.

Either way though, he felt some correction was necessary.

"Master Oakenshield," he said, "I don't think such gratefulness is warranted. I did not do much at all. Truly, it was Beorn who did all the work. A sorry savior I proved to be indeed - I just drew that orc's - Azog's - attention to myself and nearly got killed if not for the bear coming to _my_ rescue. Nothing praise or even note-worthy." '_And poked out the fiend's eye_,' he added silently with a shudder, rather wanting to forget the matter altogether.

The king shook his head stubbornly. "It is the intention and the bravery of the act that matters. You have... surprised me."

If it was the intention, why hadn't Bilbo received this honor before? He had been of the belief that he had proven himself with the trolls, so why now? The hobbit was mystified.

"Even so, I do not require any payment from you. I have not acted on such dishonorable expectations, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo finally decided to say, instead of arguing his case. If nothing else, the time spent with the company had taught him to lay low and weather their opinions quietly, because change their minds they would not, regardless of sound reasoning. Or of raging. Or sulking.

"You may call me Thorin," the dwarf cut in with a twitch in his eye.

Bilbo nodded doubtfully. "Very well, Thorin," then added, "and I am Bilbo," because it was only polite to return such sentiment.

The king made a jerky nod. "Bilbo." He shifted a little. "In any case, this is a matter of honor. You have done me a great service."

The hobbit sighed. '_Dwarves!'_ he thought in resignation. '_Whatever. He can do as he pleases_.' If he continued treating Bilbo like a honest member of the company instead of an annoying insect, the hobbit could live with his stubbornness, without problem.

The king - Thorin - nodded again, more decisive this time. He spun on his heels and began to make his way back to the rest of the dwarves, who, as Bilbo finally noticed, were casting interested glances in their direction while whispering amongst themselves. Some, like the three youngsters, were watching him with big, shining eyes as if he was one of the Valar embodied. Bilbo quickly jerked his gaze away. This kind of attention was not something he could ever remember receiving before, and it was more unsettling than anything else. The hobbit had no idea how to deal with it. Ignoring them seemed like an excellent course of action.

Gandalf towered over all in the background, staring into the distance with a thoughtful mien. Bofur caught his eye and waved happily, bounding over with a large grin on his face, while Bombur stayed behind but inclined his head with a quirk of his lips.

Bilbo waved as well, glad to see his friends again, and whole, too, but then remembered to tell Thorin before he got too far, "Oh, and Master Beorn really is much more deserving of gratitude. Without his help, the company would have doubtlessly been overrun."

Thorin froze for a second, his spine rigid, then continued on regally without looking back, passing Bofur on the way. Bilbo shook his head. Going by his own example, the dwarf would probably sooner chew his own hand off than act civil to Beorn. Amongst the proud race, it seemed to be a widely accepted opinion that outsiders had the cooties, and were to be ostracized and avoided at all costs.

"Bilbo!" Bofur said when he reached the hobbit, drawing Bilbo in for a hug. This dwarf was an exception of course. The hobbit returned the gesture with a smile.

"It's good to see you, Bofur."

"I'll say! You had us worried, getting carted off by that mad wizard!" he said in a chiding tone. "Have you healed? How's your throat?" The dwarf didn't wait for answer. "And then dashing to Thorin's rescue like a shining knight! How you managed to survive that, I'll never know. I was composing your funeral song as I watched! Mad, I say! Brave too, but mad. You gave me quite the scare!"

Bilbo chuckled. "I honestly don't know what I was thinking myself!" he said. "But I'm fine, Bofur. Beorn has taken good care of me. Come, I'll introduce you." He dearly hoped Beorn would not insult the dwarf. Bilbo had told the skin-changer about Bofur, and the man didn't seem as antagonistic at his mention as with the other dwarfs. If he acted stubborn about it, the hobbit could always kick him in the shin. It wouldn't do for Bilbo's friends not to get along.

So the two trudged back towards Beorn, who was now sitting on the rocky ground with his legs stretched out, humming and staring at the sky. One arm was hanging limply at his side, and the bloody gashes decorating his body stood in stark contrast to his alarmingly pale complexion. Concerned, Bilbo limped a little faster.

"Beorn?" he called tentatively.

The man looked at him with a smile. "Hm?"

"I brought my friend, Bofur. The one I told you about."

Bofur chirped a happy "at your service," and Beorn only hesitated for a second before returning the greeting in kind, if a tad less enthusiastic. Relieved, Bilbo scooted closer, plopping down beside him, Bofur following suit. The hobbit cleared his throat.

"There's a healer among the company; Master Oin. Would you please let him examine you?" he asked quietly, hoping against hope Beorn would put aside his distrust of dwarves for the time being.

Of course, the skin-changer scoffed. Bilbo wanted to scream, '_Look at you!'_, but it came out as a harrumph when Beorn reached over to pat his head.

"I don't require a healer, little Bunny. My injuries mend on their own fast enough. I'll be right as rain in a few more hours," he said. "I look a great deal worse than I actually am. Once I wash the blood off, there will hardly be any evidence of a fight. I am touched though. Thank you for worrying."

"Truly?" Bofur asked curiously. "Gandalf told us you were a skin-changer. Do all of your kind heal so quickly?"

Beorn's eyes narrowed, but he answered easily enough. "I am alone, Master Dwarf, but yes, my kin all had this ability," he concluded succinctly. Bilbo winced, wishing the toy-maker had picked another subject. "Bunnies, on the other hand, are not as blessed," Beorn said, nudging Bilbo. "You were bitten by that creature, weren't you? You don't want those wounds to get infected. You should go show that healer of yours," he suggested, then added sulkily, "I would take care of them myself, but I don't have any of the necessary herbs to make a poultice."

Bilbo grinned at the tone, resolutely ignoring the pang in his chest at the mention of Gollum. He nodded agreeably when Beorn shot him a glare. "Will do," he said, glancing up to search out the healer. His eyes lit up with mirth when he spotted the aged dwarf bullying his king out of his armor, so that the wounds could be accessed and treated. "I will go to him once he finishes with Master Oakenshield."

Bofur sniggered beside him. "Aye, never get between Oin and a patient."

Beorn only sniffed, but the hobbit saw his mouth twitch from the corner of his eye. Bilbo rolled his eyes. Of course Beorn would enjoy Thorin's suffering at the hands of overzealous healers.

- FM -

About an hour later, with all injuries inspected and treated accordingly, and sharing what remained of rations for a quick meal, the company decided to head off the Carrock, as Beorn called the huge rock, and take shelter at the skin-changer's home. Beorn was not at all happy with the idea, but he grudgingly agreed in the end. After all, Bilbo wasn't about to leave the dwarves behind, and his friend was thus forced to accept the ragtag bunch if he didn't want the hobbit out in the open alongside them.

The journey to the house took a whole day, and tension in the company increased by the minute. Many a time warg-howls were heard, and Bilbo was also quite worried about an attack. When it had been just him and Beorn, they were able to outmaneuver the scouts, but it was much harder with such a large - and _loud_ - group. Also, the back of Bilbo's neck constantly prickled as if he was watched. The poor hobbit felt uncomfortable enough perched atop Beorn's shoulder while everyone else was forced to walk, but the skin-changer would hear none of his protests, and led the way with the small hobbit held up securely. It was embarrassing, and the stares from the company behind them crawled over Bilbo's skin like a living thing.

It was quite dark by the time they reached Beorn's gates, but the company - even Gandalf himself - seemed amazed by the beautiful garden, as well as the large horde of various animals that came to greet the skin-changer. Bilbo could hardly wait for them to catch sight of the bees on the morrow.

When they stepped into the house itself, Beorn immediately directed the dwarves to stray piles of hay Bilbo knew was usually occupied by some of his friend's goats. His reproachful glare earned him an innocent look.

"Come now, little Bunny. You know I don't have enough beds for them."

Bilbo scowled. "Can't you at least get them fresher piles? And what about Gandalf? - Don't look at me like that, I know you have another spare bed. And the king is injured. He could get an infection!"

"Pish," Beorn said, waving a hand. "Dwarves are hardier than other folk. This won't even faze him."

"Getting his ribs crushed by a mace, then having a warg bite through his shoulder won't faze him?" Bilbo snapped back incredulously.

"Correct," Beorn drawled with an uncaring shrug.

Bilbo grit his teeth. "He can take my bed then. I can sleep with the rest of the company."

At that, Beorn actually scoffed. '_The nerve!_'

"Silly Bunny. The dwarf will be fine. You, on the other hand, will get your wounds infected if you don't keep them clean." When Beorn saw Bilbo's glare had not subsided, he heaved a huge sigh. "Fine," he said reluctantly, "the old goat's friend can have the spare bed." Bilbo narrowed his eyes. "And I'll provide some fresh hay and give them clean blankets."

Bilbo nodded in satisfaction, then shot Beorn a sincere smile. "Thank you. I know you don't like their kind, but please try to tolerate them. I will have to stay in their constant company for a long time yet, and it won't help matters if my friend antagonizes them."

Beorn shrugged. "I will not promise anything, little Bunny."

"That's all right. All I ask is for you to try," Bilbo said, patting the man's arm, which had indeed healed by then, just like the skin-changer had predicted it would.

Beorn grinned. "That I can do." Then he yawned, not bothering to hide it behind his hand. "Go get cleaned up, Bunny. I will prepare dinner."

The hobbit raised a brow.

"And have one of my children fetch hay," Beorn quickly added. He always referred to his beasts as such.

Before the man could disappear into the kitchen, Bilbo called out, "Thank you again! For everything."

- FM -

"There's no meat. Why isn't there any meat?" Ori complained mournfully, staring at the table leaden by warm, freshly prepared food. There were eggs, butter, cheese, bread, steaming pans with vegetable stews, honeyed nuts and fruits, and yet all the dwarves looked close to tears at the sight. Bilbo frowned, upset on Beorn's behalf for their ungratefulness. He would have thought that after such an experience, the company would be happy with a warm, delicious meal to fill their bellies and the good wine their host had - however grudgingly - served. Even Bofur appeared displeased!

"Master Beorn does not eat meat," Bilbo snapped lowly, hoping the skin-changer hadn't heard the exchange. "Neither is anyone allowed to hunt on this land. Stop grumbling and be grateful for his generosity!"

As opposed to other times Bilbo had shown his displeasure with the dwarves in the past, the company all quieted,their attention riveted upon their burglar. They didn't say anything, but their reactions weren't outright negative either.

"The lad is right," murmured Master Balin softly at last, breaking the awkward silence, then turning to Bilbo. "We meant no offence to your friend, Master Baggins. I'm afraid we are just a little disappointed. We have been looking forward to a good meal after these past weeks."

Bilbo tilted his head in confusion. "Did the elves not feed you?" he asked incredulously. The company didn't look starved. Then again, if what Beorn said was true, of which Bilbo had no doubt, dwarves could weather poor conditions much better than other races. "You have been at Rivendell, have you not?" the hobbit added in a baffled tone. The valley was often called the 'Last Homely House', and from what Bilbo gleaned from his books, the elves there were very welcoming and generous. It didn't make sense for them to starve their guests.

Bofur chuckled. "Aye, fed us they have. But living on leaves, I sure came to understand why elves all look like sticks stuck on legs!" The company laughed uproariously. Even the stoic king's lips twitched at the corners.

"Oh, well... Oh." Bilbo didn't really know what to say to that. So he bit into his honey-and-butter bread, humming thoughtfully while Beorn came to join the table. The skin-changer sat at the head, right beside Bilbo, and began piling his plate with boiled eggs, unconcerned by the sudden silence his presence caused. Bilbo decided to end the awkward fidgeting and blatant staring of most of the dwarves, and asked about what they had managed to learn from Rivendell's Elf Lord.

"That, ah-" began Bofur, but the king cut in with a suspicious glance at Beorn.

"This discussion is best left for later."

Bilbo's forehead crinkled. "But-"

"No need to hold back on my account," Beorn said with a full mouth. Bilbo suppressed a wince at the sight. "I will be accompanying you anyway."

Everyone gaped. Even Gandalf's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Beorn, I don't think..."

"Ridiculous!"

"Awesome!"

"What!?"

"Master Beorn?" asked Gandalf, raising his voice over the cacophony.

The skin-changer shrugged, shooting Bilbo a grin. "Little Bunnies need chaperones when dealing with dangerous wild beasts."

"Are the woods dangerous, then?" piped up Kili, and his brother swated at his head.

"I don't think he was talking about animals, dear brother."

"What?" Kili blinked in confusion. Then his face fell. "Oh."

Beorn bared his teeth in a parody of a smile, which was swept away as soon as Thorin opened his mouth.

"No."

Beorn leaned back in his chair lazily, his eyes half-lidded. "Hm?"

"We don't need you. This is our mission, something important to my people-"

"Ah, Erebor, right?"

Thorin snarled, his angry gaze already on Bilbo. The hobbit shrank into his chair. "You-"

"I am not stupid, Master Dwarf," Beorn cut in. "The Bunny didn't have to say anything for me to figure as much. There have been whispers about the dragon, Smaug, how he hadn't been seen in sixty years. Many greedy eyes have turned to the mountain alongside your own, and it is unsurprising to learn of such a quest." Thorin was about to reply, but Beorn continued as if he hadn't noticed. "Of course, you'd know the dragon isn't dead," he said, this time to Gandalf. "Such creatures are known to slumber away centuries. I do wonder why an upstanding Istar as yourself would support this foolishness."

Gandalf stared back at Beorn sternly. "I have my reasons."

"Naturally. The orcs have their reasons as well. Sauron had his reasons."

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying, Master Beorn?"

"Have I implied anything?"

Bilbo wanted to bash his head into the table. "Beorn, please!"

The skin-changer stared at Gandalf for another endless moment, but when Bilbo surreptitiously kicked his knee, he shot the hobbit a mock-wounded look, and pouted like a child. The tense atmosphere so broken, Bilbo cleared his throat.

"You want to come along, Beorn?" he asked, honestly not understanding. "I thought you- well, didn't you just say you disagreed with the quest?"

Beorn scoffed. "What care I for their idiocity? I just have to make sure you don't get dragged down by them."

Thorin huffed. "My decision stands. You shall not come with us. You are not a dwarf."

"Neither am I or Master Gandalf," Bilbo pointed out logically, despite his uncertainty on the whole matter. Although he had to admit, the prospect of Beorn there to keep him company was not a bad one at all. He had never had a friend such as Beorn before. He felt closer to the skin-changer than to any hobbit back in the Shire, which was odd, considering they had only known each other for a month or so. Perhaps it was the shared danger they have experienced? Bilbo definitely treasured Beorn's protectiveness, even if it was stifling on occasion. Never had anyone placed so much importance on his well-being, except for his parents. By Yvanna, the man was now willing to face a dragon for Bilbo! And the hobbit felt the same towards him. Also, the blunt nature was definitely a shock, but the hobbit had gotten used to the frankness Beorn displayed, and trusted him all the more for it - so different from the good-mannered masks the Shire's residents wore.

Yes, polite words were not everything. Politeness didn't equal kindness. Really, this was the first time Bilbo considered it in such a light, but it was certainly true. Maybe - just maybe - the dwarves weren't all that bad then, either? Oh, the company definitely wasn't lacking in downright nastiness, but perhaps not all of them had been purposefully insulting? Not to say they had not, in fact, been insulting, but they may not have done so with the intention to cause hurt. They had laughed at the hobbit's expense, and at Master Dwalin's cruel jokes, but excepting the king and his tattooed bodyguard, most of the company hadn't actually acted malicious. Just distrustful and quite truthful about it.

Bilbo's train of thought was broken when Gandalf spoke up, silencing the debate that had sprung up while the hobbit had gotten lost in his own world.

"Thorin, I don't think it is a bad idea. Master Beorn would be a great addition. He could be of help, even if only for our burglar's sake. We could do with his unique... talent."

Thorin gritted his teeth. Bilbo didn't understand why he was so against it. Certainly, Beorn was a greater force than all of them combined. Compared to him, Bilbo was just... excess baggage. If he was allowed in, why not the skin-changer?

"I do not trust him."

_'You didn't trust me either.'_

Yet it was different now, wasn't it? Thorin had, for all intents and purposes (if not outright) thanked him, and implied his acceptance in the group. So Bilbo took a deep breath, and turned to the king.

"He is my friend. Beorn would not betray me."

For a moment, Thorin's expression darkened, but it was gone so fast, Bilbo wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it.

"Nonetheless, Master Burglar-"

"Bilbo."

"Nonetheless, _Bilbo_, I do not trust he wouldn't sabotage our quest," the king gritted out.

"I do not care for your quest," Beorn drawled. "I don't even particularly care about the consequences your idiocity will no doubt bring about. I don't agree with them, but I have no interest in the fate of others. What I do care about is the little Bunny you have stupidly dragged along, and as long as he is committed to you, I have no choice but to follow. Any other concerns?"

Thorin glared so sharply, Bilbo was surprised Beorn didn't feel the stabs. Gandalf clapped his hands. "Then it is decided," he said cheerfully, ignoring the sputtering king. "Shall we share our adventures then? Bilbo, my boy, you have certainly missed much!"

And so that was that, as far as the wizard was concerned. Bilbo wasn't even surprised anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Things begin to turn complicated. For those of you that noticed some discrepancy in Bilbo's character, this will shed a little light on the matter. ;)

* * *

Chapter 12

That night, after everyone - save for Beorn, who was out patrolling his lands - had retired to their respective beds and piles of soft hay, Bilbo tossed and turned, panting in his sleep, cold sweat covering his skin. He moaned, babbled unintelligible words, then arched off the mattress as his muscles sized. He woke with a soft, almost silent scream on his lips.

The hobbit stared at the dark ceiling blankly, his eyes glazed but feeling dry as sandpaper under his lids. He heard no sign of activity from beyond the closed door of his room, so he hoped he hadn't woken anyone. The company was as exhausted as he himself after all they had endured in the mountains and with the orcs, and Bilbo didn't want to add to their troubles with his weakness.

Because it was useless to deny, however much he loathed the idea - weak he was, just like the company had told him time and time again. And now that they were finally coming around, if only a little, Bilbo finally admitted to himself that they may have been right, even if the hobbit hated himself for it. The dwarves could never know. Never.

Every time he managed to fall asleep, he would wake not minutes later, scared to death and unable to calm his mind. No matter how hard he tried to forget, the hellish events in that cursed cave came back to haunt him with images of his insane kin, the vicious struggle under the chocking depths of water, and in his dream, Bilbo had felt as if he was there again, suffocating and hurting and hurting the creature back. Other times it was the pale orc's malevolent leer he remembered, as the great monster walked towards Bilbo with the intent to cause pain, to maim, to kill. And in his dreams, the events transpired much differently than in reality. Azog would catch him, would torture him, would take his own little elven blade and sink it into Bilbo's flesh, or it would be the warg that came to rip him apart, piece by piece.

Each and every time the dreams would be a little different, and each worse than the previous. The hobbit remembered them all with crystal clarity, and his mind wouldn't stop replaying them even when awake, no matter how Bilbo fought against the onslaught of images. It was as if his thoughts had gained a life of their own, malicious and cruel, and Bilbo had no control over them. The fact that he was unable to master them left Bulbo almost as terrified as the thoughts themselves.

He was alone now and scared, with nothing to draw his attention off the horrors he had experienced. Bilbo didn't mind the solitude though - he would rather not burden anyone with such foolish troubles. They had real enemies to face, a dragon was waiting for them at the end of their journey, so how could he burden the company or even Beorn with threats that didn't exists, except in the hobbits mind? And Bilbo had only just succeeded in attaining some measure of respect in the dwarves' eyes, he didn't want to ruin that by flaunting his incapability to deal as well as them. The company would surely look down on him if they knew. They had endured just as much, if not worse things than Bilbo, the hobbit had listened to their story of Stone Giants, of falling captive to goblins and their king. It was a wonder they had gotten out in one piece at all.

How could they sleep so soundly? The hobbit heard their calm snores echo through the house. And if they could, why wasn't Bilbo capable of the same? The hobbit hated it, hated it all. He wanted to forget so badly, wanted the memories to be swiped clear of his conscious, never to be brought up again. And yet, he could not stop thinking about it all. Then as if being scared of mere shadows of memories wasn't enough, underneath it all bubbled the fierce self-hatred for not even being able save the one he had been compelled to help. Gollum had been mad, of that there was no doubt, but what if he would have gotten better? Bilbo could have helped, taken him out into the sun, shown him the joys of blue skies, green hills, and fresh air. Gollum could have gotten better, maybe even gone home to the Shire, where he would have been reunited with family undoubtedly mourning his loss. And what had Bilbo accomplished? He murdered the poor soul with his own hands.

It had all gone so terribly wrong, and Bilbo blamed himself for it. If only he hadn't upset Gollum, if only he had been prepared for the retaliation, if only he had used the hilt of his blade to knock the creature unconscious instead of stabbing him... If only. But he hadn't, and now Gollum was dead.

Bilbo rubbed his stinging eyes, and struggled into a sitting position. He couldn't do this. He had to get up, do something, anything. He needed to move, to occupy himself before he drove _himself_ mad. As tired as he was, sleep was not his friend right now. The hobbit knew it was foolish not to rest while he could, the company would not be staying at Beorn's for long, Thorin had informed him of the new deadline that had been set to their quest; they had to reach the Lonely Mountain by Durin's Day. Yet his nightmares left him more exhausted than he had started out as, so what use was there in trying?

Bilbo hopped off the high bed, striding toward the door with limping steps, but he froze halfway through the room. What if he woke the dwarves? And he hadn't heard Beorn return yet. The hobbit didn't wish for the skin-changer to catch him and interrogate him about why he wasn't abed. Bilbo wasn't only leery of admitting his weakness and troubling others with it, but he didn't want to talk about any of it either. It was hard enough to think about such things, let alone speaking of them aloud, even though he was quite sure Beorn, unlike the dwarves, wouldn't judge him. But the skin-changer wouldn't really understand either, would he? He hadn't liked Gollum from the start, and then his past with Azog and the pale orc's reappearance must have been weighing heavily on him already. Bilbo didn't want to add to that.

The hobbit stood there uncertainly for what felt like hours. It may as well have been. He had finally heard the skin-changer enter the house and retreat to his own room, the door banging shut behind him and a few disgruntled snorts from the dwarves following in his wake. Bilbo only moved when he began to sway, his lids drooping, but he didn't go back to the bed. Instead, he climbed up into the enormous and somewhat uncomfortable chair that stood in the corner, grabbing the book he had begun reading before he and Beorn had set out to meet the dwarves. The text was a bit dry, even boring, mostly describing the flora and fauna in the Rhovanion region, but Bilbo didn't mind. Anything to draw his thoughts from the darkness threatening to consume him.

By the time dawn came about, Bilbo was sufficiently distracted, his terror and churning emotions pushed to the back, easier to ignore. They hadn't left completely, but at least Bilbo didn't feel like bursting into tears and screaming until his voice turned hoarse. The feelings just simmered in the background, a silent enemy, but allowed Bilbo to function at least. The hobbit knew they would be back with a vengeance later on, he did need to sleep sometime after all, but he was better for the time being, and that was all that mattered.

With a sigh, Bilbo snapped the book shut, struggling off the chair. Leaving the thick tome on the nightstand, the hobbit buttoned his shirt, then snatched up his backpack and vest, slipping out of the room to wash up at the well by the back of Beorn's house before anyone else stirred. The hobbit scrubbed his skin as clean as it would get, and his efforts may have been a little more vigorous than intended, because his bite-wounds and scratches throbbed as if he had just received them. He made a mental note to ask Beorn for one of his wonderful salves later on, when the skin-changer woke.

After donning clean clothes and washing the ones he had worn as well as the bandages Master Oin had wrapped him in, Bilbo shook out his vest to get rid of the wrinkles. As he did so, something slipped out from the folds of the material, sailing through the air with a golden glint, and landing in the dewy grass. Bilbo frowned as he knelt down, but his expression blanked when he found the item. It was the ring. Gollum's magic ring.

Bilbo had completely forgotten about it. He had so much more to worry about, and it was such a small thing. But that wasn't true, was it? How could a simple ring make its wearer invisible? The hobbit had never heard of such before, and he cursed himself for not remembering it sooner. He should have showed it to Gandalf or Beorn as soon as they were safe on the Carrock, or during dinner at the very least. But it had slipped his mind, so focused had he been on _not_ focusing on Gollum's fate or Azog's malicious visage. Unacceptable!

This find was potentially important, it may even assist in their quest, yet Bilbo had been so distracted by his own misery, he had failed to remember something so vital. The hobbit scowled. '_Well, not anymore!'_ He would learn to deal with his problems if it was the last thing he did! This quest wasn't going to fail because of him!

So Bilbo hastily tucked the golden bauble back into his pocket, hung the freshly laundered articles on a pole to dry in the sun, and hurried back into the house. Everyone was still sleeping, but a few dwarves were tossing restlessly, signaling they were close to rising. The hobbit smiled at the sight of Bofur, who was snoring loudly and sprawled out spread-eagled, his head on Bombur's thigh and his feet digging into Bifur's armpit and beard, who seemed not to mind the position if his own open-mouthed snores were anything to go by.

Bilbo shook his head in faint amusement, and decided to start preparing breakfast while he waited for Gandalf to inform the wizard about the ring. Beorn was sure to sleep for a while yet, as he had stayed out quite late last night.

Knowing the dwarves' appetite, Bilbo prepared half a dozen eggs for each to fry when they awoke, and placed a great cauldron of oats to boil in water mixed with milk and honey above the freshly kindled fire. He cut up some bread into even loafs, which he placed on the table in a cloth-covered basket. Afterwards, Bilbo walked out into the garden and headed for the grove to pick some apples.

When he got back, he was surprised to see a dwarf already sitting by the dining table. The smell of the sweet oatmeal was not yet perfusing the air, so Bilbo had thought he would have another few minutes to himself. Alas, it was not to be. Thorin Oakenshield himself was staring at the hobbit with a most embarrassing intensity.

Bilbo frowned and ducked his head. "Good morning," he murmured quietly, walking over to a chair and depositing the gathered fruit upon it. Without looking at Thorin, he moved to the counter, standing on his tiptoes to reach for a knife he knew was kept there. He scowled when his questing fingers didn't encounter the hilt, and jumped when the king's voice startled him.

"To the right," Thorin instructed, and the hobbit turned to him in confusion.

The king was still sitting in the exact same position as before, regal as you please. Bilbo would never understand how he did it, sitting in a chair so large, he should have appeared like a toy or a doll in comparison. But Thorin always managed to look larger than life. It was simply the way of things, that presence he emitted.

"Excuse me?"

"The knife," Thorin clarified, pointing over Bilbo's head lazily. "It is to the left."

"Ah." Bilbo flushed, but spun and pawed around the countertop in the indicated direction, until he finally felt the wooden hilt under his palm. With that accomplished, the hobbit limped back to the chair he left the apples on, muttering a garbled "Thank you," unexplainably embarrassed for some reason.

Bilbo began peeling and quartering the fruit, placing the chopped bits in a bowl, his back rigid with tension. The atmosphere was just plain awkward. None of the two occupants of the kitchen spoke a word to each other, But Bilbo felt Thorin's eyes on him every once in a while. The hobbit wanted nothing more than to break the uncomfortable silence, but nothing came to mind they could talk about. There was too much bad blood between them, too much hurt, and suspicion, and outright confusion. So Thorin had accepted him. But did that mean they were friends? Certainly not. The dwarf had caused Bilbo too much misery with his cutting remarks and nasty actions to forget so easily. Yet they weren't enemies any longer. It would have been incredibly rude of Bilbo to show hostility after the king had been so gracious. What were they? Acquaintances? Allies? The hobbit didn't know, and he was too nervous to figure it out properly at the moment.

As it was, the silence continued on until the rest of the company began trickling in, seating themselves at the table and yawning sleepily. Conversations sparked, and Bilbo let out a sigh of relief when he was no longer Thorin's sole focus of attention. It had been daunting, to say the least. When they had still been at odds, the hobbit had been able to speak his mind. Not so much anymore. Was it terrible of him to almost wish such a time back? It had been so much easier, in hindsight. None of this uncertainty and confusion.

As Bilbo pondered upon this, he finished peeling the apples. He hopped off the chair, left the full bowl on the table and collected the waste to put aside for Beorn's pigs and birds. He quickly rinsed his hand in a bucket of water, then fished a frying pan out of a low cupboard that housed some appliances temporarily, while Bilbo lived there. The hobbit also found some of the excellent vegetable oil Beorn himself made, and began frying the eggs, twelve at a time.

He was done with nearly eight portions, the luckier dwarfs already wolfing down their meal, when Gandalf showed up. Bilbo waved at the aged wizard, shooting him a long look. He hoped this would convey that Bilbo meant to talk to him later. Gandalf nodded back and sat down, so Bilbo bit his lip and finished making everyone breakfast.

When the oatmeal was ready as well, and the hobbit had eaten his fill with the rest, he stood, tilting his head at the wizard, signaling for him to come along. He would rather have the conversation in private. Not that Bilbo understood why he didn't want the others to know. He just knew he didn't. The ring was odd, and he would rather have Gandalf see it first. Beorn would have been an option too, but as he was still asleep, telling him would have to wait. In any case, what if someone in the company thought it a bad omen or such, and destroyed it without consulting somebody more knowledgable? One never knew with dwarves. And worse, what if they liked it too much, and attempted to take it from...

Wait, that wasn't right. Why would any member of the company want to steal? Even though the hobbit hardly talked with them so far, this was a honorable bunch, if nothing else. Their code of honor may have differed from the one Bilbo knew, but some points were just universal. That included thievery. Why would they commit something so atrocious against a companion? It made no sense. Bilbo's thoughts made no sense. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep? The hobbit must have been truly tired to come up with such a strange thing.

So Bilbo shook his head as he exited the house, trying to dislodge the nonsense. It wouldn't do to babble unintelligible things at Gandalf, who was following the hobbit with amused curiosity glinting in his eyes. Bilbo led the wizard further through the garden, finally plopping down on a bench that faced a few lovely rose bushes. They weren't hidden from sight, any who came looking for them could spot them, but they were out of earshot, and far enough that no one could make out what they were doing from the building. As the silence stretched between them, Gandalf finally took the initiative.

"Well, my boy? Was there something you wanted to ask?" he asked. "I must say, I am quite surprised. I was under the impression that you were still somewhat cross with me..." he said, referring to the Bag End fiasco.

Bilbo shook his head. He had long since forgiven Gandalf. It had happened what seemed like ages ago to the hobbit. He just never had much of a chance to speak to the wizard, what with all the worrying and his preoccupation with the dwarves. "I'm not angry with you any longer..."

Gandalf's eyes twinkled. "Well, that's certainly a relief, my friend!" he exclaimed with a chuckle. "I was afraid you still harbored some ill feelings. And I never did apologize, did I?" he mused, stroking his beard. "I must admit, I could have handled the situation better. But old age really doesn't save one from making mistakes now and again, does it?"

Bilbo shrugged. It was nice to hear the wizard finally apologize, but the hobbit was much too nervous to appreciate it properly at the moment.

Gandalf appeared to notice this, because he smiled a little, then prompted, "So, did you have a question for me?"

Bilbo gulped, shaking his head. "No, not exactly..." he trailed off. Why was this so hard? The hobbit frowned at his own reluctance, but pursed his lips in determination. "Rather, I wanted to show you something."

"Oh?" Gandalf raised his eyebrows, the curiosity in the gesture plain to see.

"It- I- We," he fumbled,"were on our way to meet you with Beorn. Remember how we told you we took a path through the tunnels?"

Gandalf nodded patiently.

"Well, we met this, um, creature there," Bilbo said, not wanting to explain Gollum, shuddering at the thought. "I fought him, and something of his came into my possession."

"'Came into your possession?'" Gandalf quoted dubiously.

"Yes. In any case," Bilbo rushed on, not at all wanting to elaborate, "this object is rather strange. It can make one invisible."

Gandalf's expression turned serious in an instant. The change was so abrupt, Bilbo flinched.

"Explain."

Bilbo shrank a little at the tone. He had been uncertain to begin with, but Gandalf could be very scary when he wanted to be, and it appeared he wasn't about to go easy on the hobbit. Maybe Bilbo shouldn't show him after all? This was a bad idea...

No, it was not! Based on Gandalf's reaction, it was a good thing Bilbo decided to consult him. The ring could be dangerous if a wizard reacted to the mere mention of its properties this way. Bilbo was right to tell him! Yet why was it so hard? Why did his fists clench at the prospect of handing the jewel over for inspection? This possessiveness was terrifying the hobbit. It had come out of the blue, and with such intensity, too. It was not right. Not right at all. Bilbo wished he had never found the thing. The feelings it awakened in him were too alien, too abnormal. If he could be rid of it, would the foreign emotions leave as well? Eru save him...!

Scared of changing his mind, the hobbit clung to that trail of thought with tooth and nail as he reached into his vest-pocket and drew out the ring. His fingers closed over the gold tightly before he finally thrust it forward, right under Gandalf's nose. His hand trembled as he held the appendage out, palm up.

The wizard's breath caught when he managed to focus on the object. "A ring? You found a ring?" he asked incredulously. "And it turns the wearer invisible, you say? But the rings of power had all either been destroyed, or are accounted for... Lady Galadriel... Elrond... Thráin, but that is no longer... I cannot..."

"Master Gandalf?" Bilbo interrupted hesitantly, not understanding a word of the wizard's muttering.

Gandalf suddenly jerked, all but jumping off the bench, careful not to touch Bilbo's hand. He focused a hard stare upon the hobbit, and Bilbo ducked his head, pulling his arm back, and hiding the ring in his fist.

"Have you worn it?" Gandalf asked seriously, scowling when the hobbit didn't answer fast enough.

Bilbo shook his head.

"Good. Never put it on," The wizard snapped, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Is there anything else you noticed about it? Anything strange?"

"Well, it... I-" Bilbo really didn't know how to put this. "I'm not sure. But I feel sort of compelled to hold on to it. I mean- I'm protective of it, I guess?"

"Hm... Have you perhaps experienced any strange emotions since it came to be in your care? Something you wouldn't normally feel? Not necessarily emotions related to the ring, just generally."

"Er, no?" Bilbo answered uncertainly. He didn't think his nightmares counted. Those were the result of his own weakness, which Bilbo was loathe to admit to, even to Gandalf.

"Aggression? Suspicion?"

"Oh. Well, maybe..." The hobbit peeked up at Gandalf. "Is it bad? This ring?"

Gandalf didn't answer at first. He looked ahead with furrowed brows, and Bilbo had the uncomfortable feeling that the wizard was staring through him, not at him. When the blue eyes focused again however, they were as sharp as a blade. "I'm afraid, Master Baggins, you may have found something very 'bad' indeed."

"Why? What does it do?"

Gandalf shook his head. "We will talk no further on this matter. I have to make sure first. I must visit our leader, he should be able to shed some light on this situation. If I am right about this, he will know better than anyone."

"Your leader?" Bilbo interrupted. "Wait, you're leaving?" he squeaked.

"You don't understand, my dear boy. This changes everything. But I have to make sure... Saruman will know. I must consult him immediately. Perhaps I can catch him whilst he is still in Imladris if I hurry..."

"You can't leave!" Bilbo cried shrilly. "The quest-"

"I can and I will!" Gandalf thundered, and Bilbo flinched back. "I would have parted ways from the company soon either way. But that matter will have to wait now... If it is as I suspect, I cannot go there alone... Impossible, such a coincidence..." the wizard mumbled to himself, trailing off again.

"But-"

"No! Master Baggins, Bilbo, I cannot stress the importance of this enough. I must leave. I will come back as soon as I have some answers. In the meantime, you cannot tell anyone about this. Do you understand? No one can know."

"Not even Beorn?"

"No one!" Gandalf growled. Then he took a deep breath, visibly calming. "What of the creature? The one you said had it before you?"

Bilbo averted his gaze. "Dead," he whispered.

Gandalf nodded. "All right. You must promise me; keep the ring safe. Keep it hidden. Do not lose it."

"...I promise," Bilbo said hesitantly, chewing on his bottom lip.

The wizard smiled, but the expression seemed forced to the hobbit. "Very good. Now come, we must speak with the company. And remember; not a word about the ring. Leave the talking to me. Understood?"

Reluctantly, Bilbo agreed.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, Bilbo will fight tooth and nail, even if he can't grasp the problem itself. I do hope I managed to portray that.


End file.
